


On Broken Wings

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Chocobos, Family, Gen, Guilt, Home, Lifestream, Minor Canon character death, Moogles, Rebuilding, SOLDIER-style PTSD, Sane!Sephiroth, Superior/Subordinate relationship, canon-typical brooding, everyone in this fic needs so much therapy, goddess!Aeris, postgame fixit, sephiroth's awful childhood, wolf!Zack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 87,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after Meteorfall, Sephiroth returns - the true Sephiroth, the man behind the monster. Traumatized and ill-prepared for life outside of the control of either Shinra or Jenova, Sephiroth nevertheless seeks redemption for the suffering and death he caused: starting with the man who was forced to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Lifestream

**Author's Note:**

> I started, then abandoned this fic *mumble* years ago; this is my second crack at it.
> 
> Canon notes: This fic is NOT compliant with the Compilation, but shamelessly borrows concepts and characters from it (i.e. Denzel). If they're not from the original game and you don't see their name in the tags, assume they are Sirs Not Appearing In This Fic. Tags, meanwhile, may be updated as the fic progresses, and the rating might change, though I don't anticipate it'll get above a Teen.
> 
> Also, I spell it 'Aeris' in this fic, because reasons.

At first he was alone in the all-encompassing green, and he preferred it that way. After everything that had happened - 

_white flash, near-intolerable crush of noise pressed into a single moment too small to contain it -_

it was a relief to just drift, silent and serene, cradled by the Lifestream's warmth. 

The next thing Sephiroth was aware of - albeit dimly - were the whispers. Voices stirred the calm around him, making it ebb and break, dragging over him with subtle talons of sound that made him flinch.

_No rest,_ they murmured.

_No rest,_ they insisted.

_For you, our murderer, no rest at all,_ and their voices twisted and wove into an incoherent howl of pain and rage, and Sephiroth cried out in shock, his voice reverberating through the Lifestream itself even as the weight of his own memory hit him like a hammer.

And under its blow was the terrible realization that the speakers, his victims, had the right of it - he was Sephiroth, mass murderer, Planet-killer, poison made flesh, and for him there could be no rest. Sephiroth shuddered as the voices rose around him, a cacophony of fury. His first instinct, he found himself thinking, should have been to step back on his guard, but in the absence of a body to protect all of his hard-earned instinct and training developed over a lifetime as a weapon of war were rendered completely useless.

He floated in the Lifestream, and waited for them to tear him apart.

_"Enough."_

That single command halted the voices mid-babble, leaving the Lifestream echoing with silence. Sephiroth stirred, dared to expand his awareness to include the speaker. "Who...?" he whispered.

"Here, let me." The speaker was female, her voice light and kind. A cool light flooded Sephiroth, flexing his back, stinging his eyes - 

_Eyes._ And a spine, and arms and legs... Sephiroth looked down at himself in wonder. Alabaster flesh and long silver hair, just as it had been before he'd died. "I'm... whole," he murmured.

"It's just a memory," the speaker demurred. "I thought you'd be more comfortable this way."

Sephiroth lifted his head - his illusory head, it seemed, though it felt real enough that he was willing to go along with it - and faced his rescuer.

"You," he said quietly. "You're-"

_crushing voices, piercing screams, gibbering howls, his own personal hell collapsed into the irresistible pull of a white dwarf star-_

"-Aeris." The young woman smiled. "You remember me."

"I-" Sephiroth made his stumbling way through his own memories. "I _killed_ you, it seems."

"That's all right." Aeris made a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't..." Sephiroth shook his head, making his hair float and cling around him like spiderwebs. "I don't understand." He trailed off, clutched at his temples - and yes, having temples to clutch _was_ a minor relief. "My memory is... jumbled at best," he managed at last, slow and halting, "but I recall slaying you with perfect clarity. With that act I nearly doomed Gaia herself, and to me it felt like a triumph." Sephiroth raised his eyes to her. "How can this not matter to you?"

"Dear," Aeris told him gently, "it wasn't you."

Sephiroth hid his eyes again. "I don't think," he said, voice low, "Mother's use of constructs at all absolves me. It was still my consciousness giving them life, my hands at the strings." His throat tightened. "Mine were the hands that killed you, Miss Aeris. No matter how I wish otherwise, no amount of playing goddess with technicalities will change that."

It may have been illusion then that made him feel Aeris slipping cool, pale arms around him, pressing the length of her body to his, but the Cetra's intent was sincere and unmistakable. "First," she said gently into his chest, "when I say it wasn't you, I mean it wasn't you. It was always Jenova's hands at your strings, and I should know." She smiled up at him. "I had to dig them out of your heart one by one. Second, Jenova is not your mother."

"She-"

Aeris's voice was firm. "It is a virus, an organism whose only interest is to replicate and destroy. Maternal feeling of any sort is as foreign to it as breathing vacuum would be to you or I. You _have_ a mother already, Sephiroth. A human woman who gave birth to you. I've met her, and she's very nice, and though she never got a chance to show it, she loves you." Aeris tilted her head up to gaze at him then, still warm as ever but unsmiling. "Don't make light of her, Sephiroth."

"I'm sorry." The words spilled from Sephiroth's mouth unbidden, and he was surprised to find he meant them. He _was_ a monster, after all. Monsters didn't empathize.

"It's all right." Aeris lay her head on Sephiroth's chest again, perfectly trusting considering what Sephiroth had done to her. "Everything's all right now, Sephiroth, I promise. Jenova's gone, just as gone as I could make it. It'll never control you again. Your will is your own - Sephiroth, dear, you're free."

_Free._ The word shone in his head, singing promises that were nothing like the promises Jenova made. The _late_ Jenova, now. Jenova was gone. Her voice would never curl through his brain again, direct him like a sword against the heart of any other human. She would never scream her hate and hunger through his head until he was screaming too, inside, even as his puppet-body laughed over a slowly-cooling corpse.

She'd been his _world._

Sephiroth bowed his head over Aeris's, placed a hand gently over her back. "I... don't know what to say," he admitted. "Or do. Why am I still - _here?_ With Jenova gone, surely there is no reason for me to exist."

"Don't ask me that," Aeris grinned. "The Lifestream tells me many things, but it can't tell me what's in your heart. Why _are_ you still here?"

"I thought it was because the Lifestream wouldn't accept me," Sephiroth said faintly. "Or Jenova wouldn't let me go. But..."

The white-noise flash came again, but this time Sephiroth was ready for it, fought through it until a new self-knowledge came to him, his mind slowly beginning to knit itself whole.

"I don't want to," Sephiroth whispered, wondering at himself. "I have no right, I know that, but - I don't want this to be the end of my tale." He lifted his eyes to Aeris, hardly able to bear the kindness in her gaze but forcing himself anyway. "But - I'm dead. Is there any hope for me? Any redemption?"

Aeris didn't smile. "That, Sephiroth, is up to you. Are you willing to try?"

"For redemption?" Sephiroth didn't - wouldn't - ask how it was possible. Aeris wouldn't have posed the question if it wasn't; the how was irrelevant. "Yes."

"It won't be easy," Aeris warned. "I won't be able to help you. You'll suffer and feel sorrow just like everyone else. It's not a restful or comfortable thing, life."

"I'm used to hardship." Sephiroth's chin firmed. "I would face anything for redemption, Miss Aeris. For everyone whose lives I took, I can do nothing else."

That earned a smile from her, and Sephiroth felt something loosen in his chest. "It's just Aeris," the last Cetra told him, and floated up to plant a kiss on his forehead.

The Lifestream, all of it at once, crashed through him.

*

The lean gray wolf was waiting for him when he emerged over the cliff face. Sephiroth halted, watching the animal warily, wishing he had his sword. Masamune had been waiting for him when he'd emerged from the Lifestream, but it was a twisted ruin, and though his heart ached to hold it again Sephiroth had left it where it was.

The wolf hadn't moved, and a distant chill was starting to bite his exposed skin. Sephiroth heaved a sigh and stalked past it, distantly unsurprised when it fell into step at his heels.

The sting of the cold grew deeper the more he ascended, and Sephiroth hesitated when he caught sight of the cavern's entrance, the gleam of snow and the knife's edge of cold warning him back. He glanced back at the wolf, who only lifted a querying brow at him and switched his tail.

"Ah, well," he sighed. "I probably won't die from it."

_Whrff,_ agreed the wolf, and gave him a friendly sort of tail-whisk. Sephiroth took it as an order and resumed marching again.

The cold hit him like a thousand swords as he stepped out of the cavern, and Sephiroth found himself flinching even as he forced himself out into the too-bright light of day. It was a calm day in high summer at the Crater, more fortunate he, for he darkly suspected that he would have little chance of surviving more than a few hours otherwise. "One step, two," he murmured to himself, suiting actions to words. "Third step takes all." That third step brought him to the edge of the rock face: there was nowhere to go but up.

The wolf yipped encouragement. Sephiroth nodded to him, worked his hands until feeling returned to them, and began to climb.

_It won't be easy,_ Aeris had said; Sephiroth kept the warning in mind as he climbed steadily upward. The cold bit at his skin, wormed its way into him until he couldn't remember what it was like to be warm. The rock was rough against his palms, cracked by millenia of snowstorms, but strong; he could rest his full weight on it, pause to gather his strength, then reach up for the next handhold. And the next. And the next.

The pain of extreme cold didn't bother him. It was when it stopped hurting that you had to worry.

He had just about made up his mind to start worrying when a pink tongue swiped itself across his fingers, startling him with its warmth. "When did you-?" he said, startled, as the wolf wagged his tail and grinned at him, standing proudly at the apex of Gaea's Cliff. "No," Sephiroth sighed, "never mind. It's a foolish question." He hauled himself up and over, gritting his teeth against the encroaching weakness in his limbs. The cold was stronger than he remembered, possibly stronger than he was, and he really should have known better - "Oh," he gasped out, the reflexive breath freezing into a cloud on the wind, as he stumbled to his knees at the top of the cliff. The jagged lands of the North stretched out before him, beautiful in its harshness, but Sephiroth had no eyes for it.

The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was warm fur, rough against his bare skin as the wolf pushed itself firmly under Sephiroth's arm.

*

Freezing to death was a surprisingly warm way to die. Warm and slightly scratchy, and it smelled like chocobo.

Sephiroth cracked an eye open, expecting the glowing green of the Lifestream again. Green there was, but it was softer and darker as it pressed against his face... 

"Wark?"

"Oh," Sephiroth muttered, and rolled away from the chocobo so he could breathe. He wasn't dead, clearly, but every inch of him ached, and he didn't know where he was. The snow, and the mountains, and the wolf were nowhere in evidence, replaced by a warmly-lit stable, a scratchy wool blanket wrapped around him, and a massive green chocobo ruffling its feathers contentedly and warbling under its breath. "I've woken up in worse places," he told his new roommate, who chuckled in reply. 

Standing - and wincing; the stable's ceiling was lower than he'd judged, and now he had a decent knot on the back of his head to welcome him back to the living world - Sephiroth took stock of his surroundings. It didn't take long. The stable, only really big enough for the one chocobo, was easily a third of the size of the rest of the room, which seemed to serve as combination bedroom, storage room, and kitchen for whoever lived here. Though small, the room was bright and warm, lit mostly by a large furnace set against a wall. A small doorway was set in the opposite wall from the stable, the door ajar; the washroom, Sephiroth conjectured.

A flushing noise confirmed his theory. Sephiroth quickly sat down again, nearly bumping the chocobo's beak. His height tended to intimidate - along with everything else, anyway - and the last thing he wanted was to make his apparent rescuer feel unsafe in his own home.

He'd half-expected the wolf to come trotting out; but it was an old man, his movements stiff and slow and hindered by layer upon layer of faded garments. _The elderly tend to feel the cold, more so than a younger person would,_ Sephiroth found himself remembering, though he couldn't pin down where he'd picked up that particular bit of information. _Why is this one living in a frozen wasteland?_

Though it was entirely possible they were in Costa del Sol, for all he knew. Sephiroth glanced around, located a small window, and - no, nothing but white against the glass. "Excuse me," he tried.

The old man startled, looked around - his eyes sliding over Sephiroth several times - then focused on him. "Oh. Hello. How did you get there?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Sephiroth answered respectfully. "I don't remember how I got here."

His elderly host's brow furrowed. "Hmm. That's strange. How did you..." He trailed off, rheumy eyes losing focus. Sephiroth sat back, waiting to be told what exactly was going on.

No answer was forthcoming. "Excuse me?" Sephiroth tried again.

The old man jolted. "Oh! I remember now!" He turned an apologetic smile on his guest. "I heard something at the door. When I opened it, there you were - completely unconscious and suffering from the cold."

"You brought me in, then?" Sephiroth said doubtfully, eyeing the old man's frail hands. And how in the world had he gotten to the man's doorstep? Unless he was living at the edge of the Crater itself - no, that was impossible. Had the wolf brought him? Equally impossible. Sephiroth sensed Aeris's hand in all this, somehow.

"Well, technically, it was my Gleipnir," the old man answered. At the sound of his name, the green chocobo fluffed his feathers proudly. "A help in my old age, he is."

"Thank you, then," Sephiroth murmured, "both of you. Gleipnir and - how shall I address you?"

The old man frowned again. "Now, what was it they called me?" Sephiroth stifled a sigh as his host fell into another reverie. As if in commiseration, Gleipnir bent his head and tugged on Sephiroth's bangs. Beyond narrowing his eyes, Sephiroth didn't protest.

"Oh! The Chocobo Sage!" The old man turned to him, delighted. "They called me the Chocobo Sage. People came to me for all over the world for advice..." He shook his gray head, the momentary light in his eyes dimming. "Forgive me. You're just recovering from nearly freezing to death and here I am talking your ear off."

"I'm fine," Sephiroth assured him, and it was true - he'd suffered no ill effects from his adventure in the cold, it seemed, and the most he was suffering from was mild hunger. "I don't mind," he added awkwardly.

"No," the Chocobo Sage said, "no. I won't subject you to an old man's ramblings anymore. Here, I'll make you some tea." He turned away, shuffled to the stove. "I'm sure you prefer coffee, but tea's much better this far north."

"I actually prefer tea," Sephiroth offered awkwardly, and thought, _He must be lonely._ His chest panged curiously at the thought. "Sir," he said, standing and letting himself out of the stable (much to Gleipnir's sorrow), "I would like to hear more about chocobos, if you don't mind."

The Chocobo Sage jerked back and blinked at him, pale-milky eyes straining to focus; for a moment Sephiroth feared the old man saw him as he was. "Well," the old man said, "I'd be happy to share what I remember. What would you like to know?..."

The tea warmed him long after the cup was empty, and if the Sage was still prone to trailing off into silence, at least it was restful. Sephiroth fell asleep by the fire, listening to the sound of the Chocobo Sage's breathing.

*

With his resurrection, Sephiroth had regained his tendency to wake up just before sunrise. The snowstorm had abated during the night, but though the sky was clear, it was still bitter cold. Wrapped in a quilted cloak borrowed from the back of a chair and with a shovel found nearby, Sephiroth forced the door open against the snow that had piled up during the night and proceeded to clear it away. The sky was rosy by the time he finished, illuminating a pile of corded wood with an axe stuck in the top; bowing to the inevitable, Sephiroth dug his way to the pile and applied himself to chopping.

He'd never shoveled snow before in his life, or chopped wood; but he'd read books that seemed to imply that this was how things were supposed to go when someone did you a kindness.

The Chocobo Sage hadn't moved when Sephiroth returned, his arms full of inexpertly-chopped wood - not that the fire would care about the shape they were in - and Gleipnir was stretching his neck out from his stall and warbling pleadingly. "I'll feed you in a moment," Sephiroth promised, and trod quietly across the floor to set his firewood in the bin. The Chocobo Sage didn't even twitch.

A foreboding chill traveled up Sephiroth's spine. Straightening, he went over and knelt by the Sage's chair, placing a hand gently on his arm so as not to wake him. The Chocobo Sage was still and too cold for the warm room, his body stiff from rigor mortis. During the night, the old man had passed on.

Sephiroth pulled away, sank to the floor. "I am no stranger to death," he said aloud, as if to remind himself of the one thing that had never left him - but the kind old man was no soldier slain in a war, nor a victim of his service to Jenova. He had simply _stopped living,_ and there was no one but a lapsed murderer to mourn him. It didn't seem fair.

Falling back against the fireplace wall, Sephiroth covered his mouth with his hand, letting his eyes burn with unshed tears.

*

His strength ebbed with grief and returned with the zenith of the sun; Sephiroth used the brief warm period of midday to build a cairn of stones up around the Chocobo Sage's body in his front walk. Gleipnir looked on as his master's remains disappeared, crooning sadly low in his throat; as an afterthought Sephiroth took some shed green feathers from the bird's stable, wove them with a few strands of his own hair, and tucked them in between the stones. If anyone ever stumbled across this site, they would have more tangible proof that the Chocobo Sage was mourned.

"Farewell, sir," he murmured over the stones as Gleipnir pressed against his side. "Thank you for talking with me."

A cursory search turned up enough food in the Sage's house that both Sephiroth and Gleipnir could have lived there comfortably for some time, but both he and the big mountain chocobo seemed to agree: it was time to move on. There was a map of the northern continent pinned up on the kitchen wall, and while it was old enough to exclude the excavation site at the southern coast, it would do for getting them through the mountains. Sephiroth packed Gleipnir's saddlebags with several days' worth of provisions, bundled them both up comfortably against the cold - he wouldn't need to rely on the wolf this time - and, with the map's aid, set out for the only place he could think to go: the Forgotten City.


	2. Chapter 1: Rocket Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth returns to civilization with a heart of anxiety and a body afflicted with humanity. And chocobo pox. Wait, what?

He didn't know what he was doing here.

Sephiroth knelt on the stone floor of the pavilion where he had killed the last Cetra, Gleipnir warbling worriedly from the shore of the surrounding lake. The bird had carried him all the way here without so much as a misstep - a mountain bird to the core, just as his previous owner had said - but the City of the Ancients was another matter entirely as far as the oversize green was concerned, and the way his rider was acting did nothing to settle his nerves.

"We'll leave soon," Sephiroth assured his mount, though that was a promise he wasn't convinced he could keep. Who knew how long he'd have to stay when he didn't even know what he was looking for.

Perhaps he was meant to settle here, Sephiroth found himself thinking. It had a sort of twisted symmetry to it - to be the sole inhabitant and custodian of the Lost City, when it was he who had cut off the noble bloodline. If that was the case, he'd have to release Gleipnir eventually - he'd be much happier on his own in the mountains than in this eerie, haunted city.

Shaking his head at himself, Sephiroth straightened, gazing out over the lake. The water was achingly clear, but deep enough that Sephiroth couldn't see the bottom, and reflected the crystal pavilion on which he stood like glass. On impulse, Sephiroth made his way down to the shoreline and knelt to gaze at his own reflection. 

He looked much as he remembered himself: too tall, too pale, an exaggerated parody of a human, but well-developed and healthy. The long hair that had been his pride was pulled back in a braid against the hardships of travel, making the planes of his face seem even sharper without it to soften them. In the dimness, the glow of his eyes was clearly visible, but - 

Exhaling sharply, Sephiroth bent to peer at his reflection more closely. It _wasn't_ his imagination - his eyes had changed. The cat-slit pupils he'd been born with, that had been Jenova's first gift to him were round now, just like a normal human's. Further, the bright green glow of Mako enhancement had faded somewhat, leaving Sephiroth with eyes that shifted from green to amber as he tilted his head, and hints of gold around the edges of his irises. He looked almost _normal,_ or at least like any other SOLDIER, with his own natural eye color hinted at beneath the Mako glow. He hadn't known he had a natural eye color.

"Remarkable," Sephiroth murmured.

Even with his entire attention caught on the surface of the water, Sephiroth heard the rasp of talons on stone behind him. He held still and allowed Gleipnir to bump him insistently on the shoulder with his beak, allowed a soft breath of a laugh to escape as he stood and appeased the sturdy green with feather scratches and a handful of seeds. "All right," he said, "let's at least scout the area, for lack of any better occupation."

After all, the shape and color of his eyes may have changed, but they were still as sharp as ever.

*

But apparently his brain had suffered; not five steps away from the outskirts of the silent city Sephiroth found himself hopelessly lost. He should have known better, really, but the last time he'd been in the Sleeping Forest he'd had Jenova to guide him. Bereft of her, he was just as vulnerable as a normal human to the many tricks the forest could play. He wandered aimlessly through the white trees, cursing his thoughtlessness and growing increasingly certain he was riding in circles.

At length, he gave up and let Gleipnir have his head. The Sleeping Forest was working its magic on him, its silence and deep stillness making _him_ sleepy, but perhaps Gleipnir wouldn't be affected by it. The stories said that the first chocobos were partners to the Cetra, after all -

_-brief, searing flash of white, a sound like a scream just on the edge of hearing-_

-trying to remember where he'd learned that _hurt,_ but after a moment he grasped it: his first riding instructor, making an offhanded comment that had made as little sense to a young Sephiroth as the tasks he was asked to perform back then. It was only a scrap of memory, but just the fact that he'd recalled it was encouraging given the threadbare state of his mind. As Gleipnir picked his way patiently through the forest, Sephiroth sat back in the saddle and applied himself to sorting through the jumble of his own memories.

He'd only wanted to figure out a rough timeline in his head - _this_ happened, then _this,_ which caused _that -_ but events and the disjointed, broken images associated with them refused to be separated. _Nibelheim_ was full of fire and relentless screaming, both Jenova's and the natives'; _Midgar, five years later_ was all sick delight and bloody vengeance and people in Shinra uniforms dying so _easily_ on his sword. The space in between was utterly blank. He tried to direct his brain onwards, but the images kept snapping back, like rubber bands - fire, steel, blood, fear, pain, _screaming-_

If nothing else, the effort kept him awake.

The Forgotten City rose abruptly into view, accompanied by Gleipnir's disappointed trill. Sephiroth slammed the door on his own memories and managed a wan smile - all right, perhaps chocobos weren't immune to the Sleeping Forest's magic after all. "It's all right," he told his mount, pulling his braid back behind his shoulder. "At least you managed to go in a straight line. That's more than I can say for myself." Gleipnir eyed him sidelong as he climbed the last few feet of shale cliffs that led into the city proper, not at all comforted.

Sephiroth's weariness didn't abate when they reached the city, already drenched in shadows from the dying day. He'd thought it was just the effects of the Sleeping Forest, and that it would abate once they reached the city, but now he wasn't sure even the worst of his memories would be enough to keep him awake. He freed Gleipnir of his tack - if the green chocobo took it into his head to run, Sephiroth would be the last to stop him - and stowed it in one of the empty houses that surrounded what his mind labeled "Aeris's shrine." Gleipnir followed him, head lowered and cooing softly, and Sephiroth let him in with a wan smile. The cold wasn't as fierce as it had been at the top of the world, but nights could still be bitter, and there was a reason the Chocobo Sage had kept Gleipnir inside.

"This won't be nearly as comfortable as a stable," Sephiroth felt compelled to warn him. Gleipnir only chuckled and fluffed his feathers, butting his head gently against Sephiroth's shoulder. It was an order, however gently given, and though his limbs were heavy with weariness, Sephiroth obeyed gladly. Grooming the big green - doing _anything_ for him - made him feel useful, wanted. Like he was a real person.

He kept his eyes averted from the glowing blue crystal set on a stand in the hallway as he worked - natural materia, and during her last days of life Aeris's direct line to the spirits of the Cetra that still lingered here. They'd even tried to talk to Cloud, though at the time Cloud didn't have the tools to understand, but the last time Sephiroth himself had been here they'd given him only a hostile silence. He didn't want to know whether he could understand them now, or what they would say to him if he could.

*

He woke up shivering and disoriented, his head aching as if squeezed by an iron band. The dark didn't bother him, never had, but the unfamiliar shapes of the room drank up the shadows and threw them back at him in menacing shapes. He curled up, his blanket tight around his shoulders, but it wasn't enough - he was so cold, and his borrowed bed only made him nervous. The Cetras' dwellings had seemed so eerie even in daylight - calmly waiting, as if their masters had only stepped out for a moment. If they returned - what then?

He couldn't stay here. Sephiroth flung the blanket away from him and stumbled for the door.

Not two steps away he was stopped by Gleipnir - nearly fell over his sleeping bulk, really - and the chocobo lifted his head to regard him with groggy ire. "I'm sorry," Sephiroth said reflexively, then "Stop that," when Gleipnir fastened his beak in the thick material of his shirt. The chocobo tugged him down, and rather than let his garment rip Sephiroth acquiesced. He settled on his knees, still shaking with the night terrors that hadn't plagued him since he was a boy, and Gleipnir draped a wing over his back with a sleepy, satisfied croon.

Sephiroth curled up against him, closing his eyes and burying his face in the soft feathers over the chocobo's breast. The floor was hard and cold, and his head still throbbed, but somehow he was more comfortable like this.

*

Daylight brought clarity. His fears dissipated like morning mist, allowing him to take solace in the emptiness of the Forgotten City again, but his head felt even worse, and during the night he'd gone from chills to sweating. Groaning, Sephiroth rolled to his back, one arm over his face, and allowed a half-awake Gleipnir to chew on his sleeve. "I'll feed you in a minute, I promise," he mumbled, and closed his eyes just for a moment.

When he opened them again, the light had changed and Gleipnir was gone. Sephiroth sat up quickly and instantly regretted it as worlds exploded in white-edged pain behind his eyes. Clutching his temples, he somehow groped his way to the bed and pulled himself up on it, not so much lying down as collapsing in a very controlled manner. His head hurt, he was damp with sweat and _hot_ when he ought to be cool. _The Cetra have their revenge after all,_ he thought, with no frame of reference for what was happening to him. _I will die again here._

The light changed again, and at first Sephiroth thought he'd dozed off again until the shadow across his face called his name. _"Sephiroth."_

Sephiroth struggled up obediently, leaning on his elbow. With the sun at his back, the figure was little more than a ragged silhouette, black hair flowing smoothly into a dark cloak like a wing. As the apparition approached, Sephiroth saw he was not faceless as he'd first thought, but half his face was covered by the cloak - above which his eyes glittered like rubies, like new blood. The black-haired one reached out, placed the pale skin of his wrist across Sephiroth's forehead.

"The angel of death," Sephiroth murmured, and closed his eyes.

*

"Chocobo pox? Are you serious?"

Sephiroth grumbled and batted at the air, trying to banish the loud voice. Let him die in peace, for pity's sake...

"I'm fairly sure." That was the voice that had called him in the Forgotten City. "He's got a fever, and he's starting to show lesions on his chest."

_That_ was alarming. Sephiroth sat up, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to be at death's door, and lifted up his shirt to peer at himself. His pale skin was scattered with livid violet spots across his chest and meandering down his stomach. "Oh - _damn,"_ he said aloud. The conversation outside the cramped room halted abruptly, leaving only a low thrum - an engine of some sort - to fill the silence. Sephiroth shifted back against the gently-vibrating wall, watching the door until the loud report of a lock being released made him blink.

It wasn't his angel of death, but a grizzled blond man in a pilot's leather jacket who poked his head into the room - a crewmember's berth, Sephiroth thought, which along with the engine noise meant he was either on a ship or an airship. "Hey! You gonna go all kill-everything-that-moves on us again?"

Sephiroth pulled his shirt down quickly. "If I say yes, will you put me out of my misery?"

The pilot guffawed and leaned on the doorjamb. "Hey, Vince. Is it a good sign if he's got a sense of humor?"

A pause, then, "How would I know."

"All right, goddamn! You don't gotta get all bristly at me." The pilot shot a wry smirk at Sephiroth, as if expecting commiseration. "That guy. Just like a cat, right?"

Past the hot, damp bleariness of his illness, Sephiroth felt his shoulders tighten. "Excuse me," he said stiffly, "but should I know you?"

"Huh?" The pilot's jaw dropped. "Did you get knocked on the head?"

"Among other things," Seph managed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Would I be correct in assuming I ought to know you from when I was mad?"

"Uh." The pilot nearly dropped his cigarette before he recovered. "Well, I guess. But I don't think we had a chance to get formally introduced, what with - anyway, I'm Captain Cid Highwind."

"Highwind." Sephiroth closed his eyes. "I... had heard of you, I think. A long time ago."

"Oughta heard of me later." Cid puffed out his chest. "First man in space! Well, with Cloud. And Shera," he added grudgingly.

Sephiroth shot upright quickly - too quickly, introducing his head to the low-slanted ceiling in the process - and grunted past the urge to curse as his host guffawed. "Cloud? Cloud Strife?" he demanded. When Cid nodded, still snickering, Sephiroth sighed and sat back against the wall again. "You were in Cloud's band, then. That makes much more sense."

Cid's laughter faded. "You really are sane, huh?" he said quietly.

Sephiroth sighed, gaze drifting down into nothing. "I think so," he admitted. "There is much I can't remember, but Jenova's voice stands out. I have not heard her since I awoke in the Crater." He tilted his head at the Captain, feeling a wry, crooked smile just touch his face. "Then again, why trust the word of a madman when he says he is not mad?"

Cid chuckled again, but there was a note of hardness in his voice. "That's why you're in here," he said, knocking on the doorjamb. "Nine inches of cold steel. Even you would have trouble punching through that in a hurry."

_Not if I was motivated,_ Sephiroth thought blackly. "Thank you for your precaution. May I ask three more questions?"

"Uh - sure, go ahead."

Sephiroth closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts into some sort of order. "First, where am I being taken?"

"To my place in Rocket Town. It's pretty remote, but there's still people who can keep an eye on you." Sephiroth heard Cid shift uncertainly. "Some of the others are gonna meet us there. Probably Cloud, too, so you know."

Sephiroth nodded heavily, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I'll have to face him sooner or later," he murmured. "My second question: where is Gleipnir? My chocobo," he added. "A large green."

"He's with us," the Captain assured him. "I don't think we could've left him behind. Damn bird really likes you."

"No accounting for taste." Sephiroth offered a wan smile, and was rewarded by another of Cid's guffaws even as he dreaded the answer he might get for his third and final question - whether it turned out to be what it sounded like.

"Captain, what is chocobo pox?"

*

He had, quite literally, never been sick as a child. He'd been immune to sickness the same way he was immune to poison or sleep spells. It was part of his design - who would want a General who was vulnerable to a simple spell or a common virus?

Sephiroth could only theorize that his immunity to sickness had come from Jenova, and stripped of her influence, his body would fall prey to any number of ailments. _I'm becoming more human,_ he thought without humor, lifting up his shirt again to peer at the purple spots. The virus hadn't come from Gleipnir, as he'd feared; it was such a common virus that nearly every human in the world experienced its effects, usually during childhood, or so an amused Cid had told him. In another day or so they would turn reddish and begin to itch, and in a week they would scab over as the disease ran its course. In the meantime he would experience fever, aches and getting fussed over by someone named Shera, which Cid seemed to regard a fate worse than death itself. Sighing, Sephiroth let his shirt fall and lay back down. Rest was all he needed, he remembered from his studies; rest, and fluid intake, and the human body took care of the rest on its own. Though his thoughts spun with the events of the past few days, Sephiroth was prepared to force himself to sleep.

Something dark flickered at the slit window in the door. Sephiroth looked up, and met a pair of ruby eyes that smoldered for a moment before their owner turned away and disappeared.

*

The airship landed with a bump; Sephiroth was instantly alert. He lay motionless, hands folded over his chest, until Cid threw the lock back and cracked the door open. "Hey, we're here," he called, as if Sephiroth hadn't deduced that on his own. "You're gonna have to hang out here a while longer though."

"Yes, Captain," Sephiroth murmured. Cid made a soft, blustery noise, as if not quite sure how to respond to that, and shut the door again.

Sephiroth had almost fallen asleep again when a woman's voice dragged him to full alertness. "-really, Captain, this just isn't how we treat guests. You couldn't even offer him a cup of tea?" The bolt was thrown back and the door opened, revealing a sheepish Cid and a small, birdlike woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses. "Well! You must be Sephiroth," she said briskly.

Sephiroth flicked his gaze to Cid, who shrugged. "Yes, ma'am," he answered cautiously.

"Shera," the woman introduced herself. "Come on, up you go. Inside."

Sephiroth flicked his gaze to Cid. "I'm not sure that's advisable, ma'am," he hedged. "The Captain's order-"

"-Is unacceptable," Shera interrupted firmly. "It still gets cold out here during the night, and you're ill." When Sephiroth hesitated still, Shera relaxed and offered a smile. "I have two strong men here to protect me," she said, quiet but sincere. "I'm not afraid."

"Now wait a minute-" Cid spluttered.

The look Shera gave him then reminded Sephiroth so much of Aeris - equally stubborn and kind - that he couldn't help but obey her. Sitting up and wrapping his blanket tight around his shoulders, he nodded his readiness. "Thank you," he said quietly.

The look faded, replaced with a brisk straightforwardness as she beckoned him. "This way. I have a room made up for you."

*

It was a nice room, as far as rooms went. The bed was softer than he was used to, but the sheets smelled fresh and crisp, and there were flowers in a vase at the windowsill. ...At least, there were until Gleipnir poked his head in.

"You seem more at ease," Sephiroth observed as the green munched on his thoughtfully-provided snack. "That's good." Gleipnir cooed at him in reply, ruffling his feathers. Sephiroth couldn't help but smile at his companion. "I'm sorry I cannot groom you for the next few days," he offered, "but Miss Shera made it clear I'm not to leave the room until I'm well again. I'm not sure the Captain would like it either," he added as an afterthought. Gleipnir tilted his head, eyes bright with curiosity and intelligence, but before Sephiroth could go on, Cid and Shera's voices from beyond the closed door cautioned him to silence.

"Look, I don't think he's crackers either," Cid was saying, in the low hoarse tone of someone trying to keep his voice down. His voice was distant enough that he had to be on the other side of the house, or even outside; no doubt he thought Sephiroth couldn't hear him. "But that doesn't mean he's fixed. Spike said-"

"I know," Shera interrupted patiently, her voice just as low. "Cloud also said not to do anything until he got here. I think we should trust his judgment."

_Cloud._ Sephiroth fisted his hands in his sheet.

Cid's voice dropped to a sulky mutter. "Vincent doesn't trust him."

On the edge of hearing, Sephiroth picked up a soft rustle of cloth. "Do you blame him?" Shera asked.

Sephiroth turned his face away from the voices and lay his head back down. His head hurt again, and he didn't want to hear any more.

*

It was light again when Sephiroth woke up, and Shera was endeavoring to set a cup of something hot and sharp-smelling down on the nightstand without rattling it. "Sorry," she whispered when she noticed him looking at her. "Go back to sleep."

"What time is it?" Sephiroth asked.

"Almost seven. How are you feeling?"

Sephiroth blinked blearily. "My head hurts. And -" he peeked under his covers - "and I itch." The spots had turned red and stinging overnight, and had spread down his torso to his legs and arms. "I itch everywhere," he said mournfully.

"There's spots on your face, too," Shera said, in that peculiar giddy tone that - Sephiroth thought - meant she was trying not to laugh. "I'll get you some anti-itch cream. And some painkillers."

"Don't bother with the painkillers," Sephiroth grumbled, forcing himself to sit up. "I metabolize them too fast to be of any use."

"Drink the tea, then. It tastes terrible, but I promise it'll help." Shera left him with a final, sympathetic smile. Sephiroth lay still a moment after she'd gone, then sat up and drank the tea all at once. She was right - it _did_ taste terrible. And he still itched.

_Don't scratch,_ Sephiroth reminded himself, remembering how a researcher had admonished him when a lethal poison spread on his skin had given him a rash. _Slap or rub. Scratching risks breaking the skin._ While well-meant, Sephiroth had thought at the time that it was rather useless advice - even if he did break his skin, he was invulnerable to infection and didn't scar, so why did it matter?

Now, of course, his invulnerability was none so assured, or he wouldn't have fallen sick in the first place. Sephiroth slapped at his stomach, his chest, his arms, even his face trying to soothe the stinging itch. His vision blurred with the urgency of it, making the spots dance over his skin like red biting bugs. His fingers twitched, longing to scratch - even taking off the top layer of skin would be worth it if it brought relief.

And none of it helped the crawling itch on his _back._ Groaning aloud, Sephiroth lay down and rubbed his shoulders against the sheets. The cloth was too smooth by far to make any difference, but the motion and the effort made him feel a little better, if nothing else. 

"Oh, you poor thing."

Sephiroth craned his head up to look at Shera, too aware that the look he was giving her probably resembled a flea-bitten, suffering chocobo begging for relief too closely to be entirely dignified. "This is unpleasant," he blurted, and was slightly heartened when Shera's face crinkled in a genuine smile that shared little in common with the comforting expressions she'd offered before. It was worth reaching that far back, for the subtle variation of understatement that he'd been taught was humorous by -

Sephiroth ripped his mind viciously back to the present before he could think the name. "Thank you again, ma'am," he offered instead, sheepishly sitting up and brushing his braid back over his shoulder. "I can't speak as to the advisability of your hospitality, but I do appreciate it."

Shera shook her head. "I told you already, I'm not afraid." Palming the white bottle in her hands, she added, "I'll let you apply this yourself, but you should at least let me do your back."

"Please," Sephiroth said, not caring what he sounded like. At a gesture from his hostess he obediently turned, allowing her to sit down beside him and cover his back with cooling ointment.

*

Applied liberally, the anti-itch medicine did help. Applied liberally, it ran out quickly, especially considering the extensive surface area it had to cover. Sephiroth went through three bottles in two days, before the first of the Avalanche members began to arrive.

"Holy-!" A girl's shriek woke Sephiroth out of a sound slumber, but he wasn't able to peel his eyes open quickly enough to spot the source. "It really _is_ him!" Then, in a mutter, "He looks awful."

"Yuffie, he's resting," he heard Shera admonish.

He managed to get back to sleep again after that, but only just. The next thing he was aware of was a small weight on his chest, and he pried his eyes open to find a black-and-white cat with a shiny gold crown perched on him. The crown had a number hand-painted on it: 3. "Mzuh," he said intelligently.

"Geez, Yuffie's right," the cat said. "You do look awful."

"I told you!" someone - presumably Yuffie - called. The cat rolled his eyes.

"Well," he said, standing up on his hind legs, "get some rest, all right?"

_I was trying to,_ Sephiroth wanted to say. "Who, or what, are you?"

"That can wait for later." The cat hopped off the side of the bed and trotted out, still on two legs. Sephiroth watched him go for a moment before groping for the anti-itch cream.

The next time Sephiroth was woken from his blurry slumber, it was not due to any particular voice, but the presence of _too many_ strangers in a small space. There was a new cup of tea on his nightstand, but it was lukewarm when he picked it up; he forced himself to swallow it all anyway, making a face at its bitterness. _It makes you feel better,_ Sephiroth reminded himself. _That doesn't change just because of the temperature._

A familiar warble drew him to the window. He peeked out to see Gleipnir standing by the fence, all his feathers fluffed out in ecstasy, receiving head scratches from someone short and blond and wiry-tough.

Before Sephiroth could duck away again, Gleipnir spotted him. The bird raced to the window with a wark of joy and shoved his head against Sephiroth's shoulder, crooning when Sephiroth buried his fingers in the feathers at the base of Gleipnir's neck. "I've missed you too," he murmured, but his gaze was locked with the bright, intense stare of Cloud Strife.


	3. Chapter 2: Tribunal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do with a ~~drunken SOLDIER~~ sane ex-General?

Shera called Sephiroth away from the window for yet another application of healing lotion, which Sephiroth was grateful for - nothing else but relief from itching could have torn him away from Cloud's eyes. They were every bit as bright as he remembered, leaving streaks across his vision even after he turned away - not the natural brightness of a young man with the world open to him, but the unsettling shine that spoke of the Mako in his blood. Cloud Strife was a SOLDIER in all but name, his strength and senses pushed beyond normal limits by the very blood of the Planet.

His killer.

His savior.

Sephiroth removed his shirt at Shera's urging and sat, allowing her to spread the cooling cream over his back. His hair was pulled back in a braid, keeping it out of the way, and Sephiroth held it between his hands as she worked. He closed his eyes against Gleipnir's inevitable disappointed warble, but all he heard was a contented, heavy croon. He slitted open one eye to see Gleipnir happily submitting to Cloud's petting. _Disloyal beast,_ Sephiroth thought, amused.

Apparently Shera was watching too; her hands paused and she sighed. "You could come in like a normal person, Cloud." Her fingers swept over Sephiroth's shoulderblades, brisk and cool. "You're going to spoil that bird if you keep on like that."

"He's a good bird," Cloud said, which didn't sound like a response to Shera's objection, so Sephiroth lifted his head. Cloud was studiously not looking at him, appearing to concentrate wholly on ruffling Gleipnir's feathers for him.

"Gleipnir is a very good bird," he offered quietly, and saw Cloud's eyes flicker. Encouraged, he added, "He was with me all through the northern mountains."

"Strong," Cloud mused, and Gleipnir fluffed his feathers and cooed, knowing he was being praised. Sephiroth hid a smile behind his hair as Shera rubbed cream into his shoulders.

"Are you all right with the rest yourself?" Shera asked, as she always did; as he always did, Sephiroth nodded and accepted the bottle of cream. As she hopped off the bed and exited the room, Gleipnir warbled sadly. Startled, Sephiroth looked up to see his bird alone at the window. Cloud had gone.

*

He could hear them talking about him.

He lay motionless in the bed, eyes closed, breath slow and steady as if he were asleep - how many times had he waited for dawn like this, pretending to sleep in his spare quarters at Shinra Tower, knowing his blood and breath were being monitored even through the night? Except it was early afternoon in a town far away from Midgar, and the room belonged to Captain Highwind and his - wife or lover or companion, whichever Shera was, and none of them had the capability to monitor his vitals that Shinra had. The people in the house had every right to distrust him, even if the death they threatened was better than being referred back to the labs. _But not yet,_ he pleaded silently. _Not until I have a chance to apologize, at least. Did you send me back only to have me slain again, Aeris?_

"Do you think he's..."

"I don't know..."

"...kill us all in our sleep..."

"...looks miserable, poor thing..."

"...really chocobo pox?"

"...watch him."

That last was Cloud's voice - he knew it as well as his own. _Watch him._ Sephiroth allowed himself a small smile. Cloud could be counted on, couldn't he? He'd proven that, over and over again. Yes, Sephiroth remembered.

Glancing down at his arms, Sephiroth was gratified to see that his spots were beginning to scab over. His fever and headache had eased, leaving him restless and impatient in the nice little room he'd been unofficially confined to. Shera brought him tea and skin cream and food (now that he was getting better, he thought he'd shocked her a little over how much he could eat), and a few of the other people in the house - the young lady Yuffie, mostly, sometimes Cid - could sometimes be engaged in a few words when their curiosity got the best of them and they peeked into his room, but for the most part he was left alone. His mind and body had been idle for the better part of a week, and now a new itch was blooming in him: he itched to be active again.

 _Patience,_ he counseled himself. _It will do no good to dwell._

Still, when Shera came in bearing his lunch, Sephiroth found himself asking politely if there might be such a thing as a book he could borrow. Shera flushed and twittered a moment before running out, leaving the door ajar. Sephiroth had almost finished his soup when Shera returned, accompanied by Cid and a big stack of books. "I didn't know what you might like," Shera said apologetically, and Cid commiserated with him on the Nature of Woman with a goodnatured grimace as he plunked the stack down on the nightstand. Sephiroth thanked them both politely and settled in with the first book on the stack. 

*

He was nearly halfway finished with it when Shera returned later that afternoon. "What do you think so far?" she asked.

Sephiroth turned a page thoughtfully. "I think Zidane reminds me of someone I knew."

"Cloud said the same thing."

She'd said it as gently as she could, but the name still made Sephiroth's throat tighten a little. He lifted his head and saw that Shera was empty-handed, not bearing the bitter tea he'd expected. At his questioning look, she twisted her hands embarrassedly. "We've been talking about... your situation," she said.

"I know," Sephiroth answered calmly, and tried not to be gratified when the woman startled. "What have you decided?"

Shera hesitated, her gaze slipping aside to avoid meeting his. "Nothing, yet. I came to see if you feel like talking to the others."

Sephiroth bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Tell them I am at their disposal."

"I'll tell them you're feeling better," Shera replied with a hint of her old tartness. "Cloud's out until this evening, so we'll probably talk after dinner."

Sephiroth nodded, and when he refused to say anything more Shera left him alone. He waited until her footsteps receded, then got up and paced to the window. Gleipnir, faithful bird, came trotting over with a cheery whistle as soon as he spotted his rider, and Sephiroth accepted his preening affection with relief, even letting his face rest in the soft feathers at the top of the big green's head.

"Thank you," he murmured. "I still don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what I expect. Forgiveness? Understanding? I barely understand myself. I certainly don't deserve to be forgiven."

Gleipnir grumbled and took a beakful of Sephiroth's bangs, tugging it gently in what Sephiroth took to be reproval. "I'm sorry," he said, smoothing the green's crest. "I won't turn away from my path, not now. Aeris would scold me," he added on impulse. The green chuckled and nudged Sephiroth's forehead with his own. Smiling, Sephiroth kept finger-grooming his feathers; Gleipnir's eyes closed to slits and he crooned at the top of his lungs. Sephiroth allowed the sound to calm him until he all but forgot about the judgment facing him that evening.

On impulse, he reached out and picked up the book he'd been reading and opened it to the bookmark. "Where was I," he murmured, idly stroking Gleipnir's crest. "Ah, here. 'Zidane leaped to Dagger's defense...' "

*

The doorknob rattled, startling Sephiroth from his absorption in the plight of the black mage constructs in the book. Quickly, almost guiltily, he marked his place and set the book aside, and twisted a corner of the sheet over his tattooed hand as the door opened.

Cloud stepped defiantly through, as if daring Sephiroth to challenge his invasion. Sephiroth looked away, fingers tightening in the sheet, but Cloud didn't move again until someone poked him from behind. "Hey, hurry it up! Some of us got places to be!" Cloud stepped aside, moving to the window as a big dark-skinned man with a cybernetic arm shouldered into the room. The back of Sephiroth's neck prickled at the hostile aura he projected - _a man looking for a fight._

Shera entered next, her small hand wrapped firmly around Cid's wrist; the man appeared relaxed, in sharp contrast to Cloud and his larger companion. The catlike construct followed, and Yuffie came in after. Last of all came a huge red-furred lionlike being - Sephiroth thought at first that he was the girl's pet or guardian animal, but the creature crossed the room and sat near the foot of Sephiroth's bed with the prepossessed dignity of a sentient. It was all very crowded.

Sephiroth closed his eyes and willed his treacherous heart to still, before Cloud noticed it beating so fast. He was sure they were waiting for him to speak his peace - somehow justify himself - but the sheer magnitude of his past froze his tongue and throat, and an awkward silence settled over the room.

Yuffie was the one to break it, typically. "Gawd, _that_ book?" she demanded with a roll of her eyes. "Number six is _way_ better."

"Is it?" the leonine being rumbled with a twitch of his tail. "I found it rather prosaic, myself." Sephiroth tried not to wonder how a creature with no thumbs read a book, but it seemed impolite to ask.

"'Prosaic?' What does that even mean?" Yuffie wrinkled her nose. "Can't you talk like a normal person just once?"

The dark red mane bristled. "There's nothing wrong with how I talk. If you opened a book once in a while-"

"I _just said_ I read books nine and six, how are you even-"

"Knock it off!" the mechanical-armed man snapped at them both. "Play book club later. We got us a mass-murdering General to see to!" Sephiroth's shoulders stiffened. 

"It pains me to say it, but Barret's right." The cat-construct hopped up on the bed, leaning rakishly against Sephiroth's knee. "I, the Right Honorable Cait Sith, now call this meeting to order. General?" Cait Sith turned, offering him a broad, sharp-toothed grin. "The floor - er, the bed - is yours."

This, at least, was familiar territory. "What do you want to hear first?" Sephiroth forced himself to sit up straight. "You all obviously know what happened before. Should I start there, or with the circumstances surrounding my resurrection?"

"How you came back!" Barret demanded. "So we can plug up the hole you came outta."

"I'd be interested to hear that myself," Cait Sith admitted, and both man and cat-construct looked embarrassed at agreeing for the second time.

"I want to hear," Cloud began quietly, and Barret fell silent as all eyes turned to him. "I want to hear what happened at Nibelheim." He found Sephiroth's gaze and held it, as sharp as blue crystal. "When you killed my mother. My town."

Sephiroth took a deep breath, held it to a count of four, and let it out. "I thought you might ask that," he murmured. "My manipulation of your memories of that time... How much do you remember, Cloud? Truly remember."

That made Cloud hesitate. "Some. Not all," he admitted.

Sephiroth nodded. "It started at the reactor," he began, keeping his eyes on Cloud so that the visuals couldn't overwhelm him. "My nearness to Jenova must have... awakened her cells in me, somehow. At first I thought I was just angry." He paused. "I _was_ angry. The - the creatures in the reactor, that were once humans... did you see them?" Cloud nodded reluctantly. "I had to know more. I had to know if I was really no different from them. That led me to the library, and from there..." Sephiroth trailed off, unable to find words to explain how the journals led him deeper and deeper into his spiral of anger and doubt, until Cloud nodded for him to go on. "In the end, I... learned what she wanted me to learn, I suppose. My irresolute mind was easy for her to take over."

"Aw, _hell_ no." Barret swept a hand in a violent gesture of dismissal, forcing Yuffie to duck. "You don't get to claim mind control. Not after all the shit you pulled-!"

Sephiroth didn't look at him, focusing instead on Cloud. "You know what it's like," he whispered, "don't you? You remember. What it is to have her in your head, twisting your thoughts and memories to her purposes. You don't even realize it until she's gone, how insidious her hold is."

Cloud stared at him for a long moment. "That doesn't," he said evenly, "make it better."

"I know." Sephiroth swung his legs off the bed, dumping Cait Sith on his rump, and stood. "Maybe nothing can. Cloud... I can't change what I've done. I only want to... to try to heal the wounds I've made. I have to _try,_ Cloud."

"Tell that to the people of Nibelheim." Cloud threw the words in his face; Sephiroth flinched. "They died horribly for your 'irresolute mind.' Or tell that to the interns in Shinra Tower, or the sailors in Junon. Can you heal their wounds, Sephiroth?" The blond's fists curled. "Can you bring Aeris back?"

Sephiroth lowered his head, unable to say any more. "I thought not," Cloud said, grimly satisfied. "You should have stayed a memory - ow!"

_"Wark!"_

Sephiroth jolted upright. Gleipnir, feathers on end and angrier than he'd ever seen him, was trying to climb through the window, and Cloud was backing away with a hand to his head. "What the hell!" Cloud exclaimed.

"Gleipnir, stop!" Sephiroth ran to him, pushed him back with both hands on the bird's chest. "Gleipnir, no. Stop it." Gleipnir opened his beak and squawked angrily at Cloud, then subsided with a grumble to preen Sephiroth's bangs. _So much for dignity,_ Sephiroth thought, letting the bird do as he pleased with his hair until he was mostly calm again.

"I'll be damned," he heard Cid breathe behind him.

"Evil damn Jenovabird," Barret muttered. Gleipnir growled over his beakful of Sephiroth's hair.

Nanaki roused himself, shaking his mane. "No," he said thoughtfully, "I believe that was a protective display. I've seen it in the wild - though the female chocobo has a reputation for fierceness in defense of her chicks, the father is often just as fierce." He offered the explanation as dry of emotion as a bored professor, though his tail swished the air in an amused fashion.

Sephiroth's cheeks burned, and he hid his face in Gleipnir's feathers. "Gleipnir," he muttered, "I am not a chick."

"Kweh," said Gleipnir contentedly. Behind him, Sephiroth could hear muffled splorfles and outright giggling; the latter he thought was Yuffie, but it sounded as though most of the others were at least amused. _I'm so glad you're getting some benefit from this,_ he thought at them, though he knew his resentment was unfair. Gleipnir had preened his hair before and he hadn't felt the need to complain.

The others cruelly let him marinate in embarrassment a moment longer until Cloud began again, this time out of pecking range. "Where did you get that bird, anyway?" he grumbled.

Sephiroth tousled Gleipnir's feathers and thought about the grave in the mountains. "His... previous owner had died," he admitted haltingly. "The Sage was kind to me, the least I could do was look after his bird."

"The Chocobo Sage?" Cloud demanded.

"Vincent went back there after hearing the story," Shera volunteered quietly. "He found the cairn Sephiroth built for him. And he said he didn't smell any blood or magic," she added firmly, as if to forestall anyone accusing Sephiroth of murdering the old man - as if not killing one person could make up for all the rest.

Barret seemed to reach the same conclusion. "Damn it all," he cursed, thumping his flesh-and-bone arm against the wall. "What the hell are we supposed to do with him? Pat him on the head and send him back to the Shinra?"

Sephiroth kept his face turned away, thinking _I'd rather you killed me,_ but he didn't say it aloud. "What about Vincent?" Cait Sith asked from the bed. "What does he think?"

"Dunno. He won't talk about it," Cid answered in a low voice. "He's been doing that broody thing all week."

"It's not really about Seph," Shera murmured, and Sephiroth tensed at the nickname just a fraction. "He'd be here if he thought there was a threat."

"I think Cloud should decide," Nanaki said firmly. "He's the closest one to this issue."

"I don't _want_ to decide!" Cloud burst out. "Why am I his keeper? I only -" He took a deep breath. "Only killed him twice. _Gods."_ He stalked to the window, ignoring Gleipnir's warning growl, and stared at Sephiroth like he expected the man to dissolve into the ether under the force of it. Sephiroth stubbornly remained solid, half his face buried in Gleipnir's neck feathers. Sephiroth thought about apologizing, but then Cloud would get mad again, which would set Gleipnir off, and it wasn't the right time for that sort of thing.

Still, it seemed Cloud could out-stubborn even Sephiroth, and he found himself speaking without meaning to. "She isn't cruel," he murmured, mostly to himself. "She wouldn't have helped me come back if she didn't think I could redeem myself somehow."

"Who?" Cloud asked.

"Aeris."

It was a surprise when Cloud jerked back, and an even greater one when he didn't react beyond that. Slowly, as if afraid of the answer, he ventured, "Aeris? Not Jenova?"

Sephiroth suppressed a shudder at the name. "Aeris said Jenova was dead." He sighed and bent his head almost to the sill. "I have to believe her. Faith in her is all I have."

"Wark," Gleipnir protested around his mouthful of hair, and Sephiroth caressed his feathers in mute apology. Cloud shifted from foot to foot, looking like he wanted to pace but had too much pride to. 

"I'm going out," the blond said abruptly, and no one blocked his way as he left.

*

A bribe of food had made the bird forgive Cloud his transgressions of the day before, apparently; he was perfectly happy to let Cloud lean against the fence and watch him, even approach him for scratches from time to time. Sephiroth allowed himself a smile at this - even if he had a temper, Gleipnir was a good and faithful bird, and deserved more than his mad rider could give. If Cloud liked him, all the better.

After Cloud's retreat, the meeting had been more or less over. Barret had quit his company, muttering in frustration, and Cid had wandered off. The rest had attempted to help Sephiroth fill in the gaps in his memory from his time of madness, and even told him of Professor Hojo's death and the fall of Shinra Company. He received the news with a strange numb/hollow feeling; Hojo, with Shinra's backing, had belittled him and hurt him and used him - but he'd also been one of the few constants in Sephiroth's life, and he couldn't decide whether he felt relieved, guilty, bereaved, or nothing at all.

These thoughts were still swirling around in his head the following morning, making him feel faintly edgy. He turned away from the window restlessly, flipping the pages of the book in his hand without really reading them. Zidane had just announced his plan to split his group up to conquer the four shrines scattered about the world; he made it sound so easy. Or perhaps it only sounded easy to Sephiroth, who - it occurred to him - had no concrete goal before him for what had to be the first time in his life.

 _There have always been missions,_ he thought. _Before that, there were tests._ Now he wished he knew what he was - _afraid of_ \- complaining about, so that he could tell himself sternly to knock it off.

"Sephiroth, are you there?"

Cloud's voice was coming from some distance - he hadn't moved from the fence, Sephiroth thought. "Yes," he answered, sinking down on the bed and closing his eyes.

A pause, an inward hiss of breath. "Will you be fit to travel at dawn tomorrow?"

"I believe so," Sephiroth answered slowly. His marks from the chocobo pox were all but healed, only the odd scab hanging on here and there, and he hadn't needed Shera's medicinal tea at all since the night before. "Depending on the pace," he added, just to be safe.

This time Cloud's answer was a bit dry. "We'll go slow. I'm not in a hurry."

 _We,_ he'd said. Sephiroth found himself relaxing. "Where are we going?"

"Edge."

"Edge?"

"What's left of Midgar after Meteor." Cloud's voice went from dry to utterly flat. Sephiroth's mouth went dry, and he wondered if he was still sick after all. "Don't worry," Cloud added into the former General's silence. "That one was both our faults. I won't hold it against you."

His footfalls receded, heading out away from the house. Sephiroth waited until they blended with the background hum of the town before succumbing to his weakness and curling up on the bed. Oddly, part of him felt better: Cloud had given him a goal to accomplish, even if it was a short-term one. _Go to Edge. Await further orders._

 _If we're to leave at dawn, I'd best make it an early night,_ he excused himself, but he was still awake when night fell and Shera came in to spread a blanket over his shoulders. He pretended to be asleep, even when Shera reached out to brush his bangs away from his face.

*

Cloud had a chocobo too, a magnificent gold he hadn't bothered to pen, but who came at a whistle. "Tyr," he grunted by way of introduction. Tyr flicked a glance at Sephiroth and Gleipnir as his rider saddled him, but otherwise paid them no acknowledgement; for his part, Gleipnir smoothed his crest around the gold and kept his head submissively down. Amused, Sephiroth scratched his mount at the back of his skull and went back to securing his single saddlebag: mostly containing a few borrowed clothes, but Shera had insisted he take a few books with him too. Sephiroth hadn't had the heart to say no.

He paused with his hands on Gleipnir's saddle when Cid emerged, squinting against the gray morning and clutching his cup of black tea. "You're sure you don't wanna take the airship," he stated to Cloud, as if he didn't quite believe it.

Cloud shrugged. "We'll be fine."

"Sure." Cid took a swig of his tea and coughed. "Well, try not to kill each other."

 _"Cid,"_ Cloud protested. Sephiroth, for his part, very quietly thumped his forehead against Gleipnir's saddle. The green took that as his cue and nibbled Sephiroth's hair, warking under his breath.

Cid laughed and clapped Cloud's shoulder. "Go on, before Shera takes it in her head to feed you. ...See you later, General," he added after a breath's pause. "Good luck."

"'Good luck?' For what?" Sephiroth asked, worried, but Cid didn't answer. On impulse he turned his head to follow Cid's retreating footsteps as best he could with his bangs in Gleipnir's beak. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a ragged dark shape on the roof of the Captain's house. As he watched, Vincent lifted a hand, a faint ghost of a gesture, then turned away and leaped off the roof and out of sight.


	4. Chapter 3: Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Origami is an odd method of atonement, but if it makes a pair of curious nine-year-olds smile, why not?

Sephiroth paused, hands tight on Gleipnir's reins. "Cloud?"

Cloud didn't look up. "Yeah."

"Isn't that..." Sephiroth waved a hand at the scenery below them: beyond the cliff, the mountains parted to cradle a green valley between them, and in that valley was a small town. _Nibelheim._

"Yeah," Cloud confirmed, his inflection still a dull monotone.

Sephiroth shook his head and willed the world, and his stomach, not to lurch from unreality. He focused on his hands clenched tight on the reins. He had asked for, and received, an old pair of leather gloves before he had left Cid and Shera's care. They were brown and plain, made for working rather than war; but they covered his tattoo. "Didn't I...?"

This time a note of dry amusement bled into Cloud's voice. "Burn it to the ground?"

"Well," Sephiroth said desperately, "yes."

"Yeah," Cloud answered, monotone again, and Sephiroth quickly smothered the urge to shake him.

"Then why..." he managed once he was in control of himself again.

_"Shinra."_ Cloud muttered, and this time he couldn't keep his anger from coloring his voice.

Sephiroth let out a long, slow breath. "Ah." He bit his lip to keep from pushing Cloud any further, and nearly jumped when the blond spoke again on his own.

"I'm thinking," he said, "we should avoid the area altogether."

Sephiroth took one last look at the pleasant little village below, then tore his eyes away and nudged Gleipnir on after Cloud and Tyr. "Good idea."

*

They were only in the mountains for a few days, yet somehow the trip dragged on for eons. As they headed northward, the jagged features of the Nibel range broke off abruptly in favor of more earthy-green mountains. These were younger mountains, formed by gradual wrinkling of Gaia's crust, a less violent process than the ancient volcanic activity that had birthed the Nibel mountains. Gleipnir seemed to be happier on terrain that he could sink his talons into, bouncing his stride and even trying to make friends with Tyr, though the gold ignored him imperiously. Sephiroth endured the extra bounce stoically along with Cloud's silence.

Yet in his dreams, he saw the wolf again. Sephiroth hesitated to say the specter was _haunting_ his dreams; it was much more like he was guarding them.

*

"There are three things you need to see when we get to Edge," Cloud told him, huddled on the sole berth in their tiny stateroom aboard the good ship _Rust Bucket_.

Sephiroth peered up at him from his seat on the floor, taking in the younger man's greenish complexion. "Perhaps we should have taken the airship after all," he offered unnecessarily.

Cloud glared at him and curled up tighter. "I'd be motion sick either way. Don't change the subject."

"I apologize," Sephiroth said humbly. "Go on."

"Well, two things," Cloud corrected himself, "and one person you need to meet." He shook his head. "She won't be happy. With either of us. I didn't even tell her about - you, before I left."

"Someone I wronged," Sephiroth guessed dryly. "Who is she?" When Cloud hesitated, Sephiroth knew he'd overstepped his bounds. "Forget I asked."

"It's okay," Cloud said, too quickly. "It's just... I don't know what to call our relationship. It's, uh..." He waved a hand in the air. "Weird."

Sephiroth thought about that. "It can't be as weird as ours."

Cloud made an explosive, amused noise. "Shiva, I must be tired, that was actually funny." He glared at his traveling companion, though the effect was ruined by his insistent smile. "You're not allowed to make me laugh, Sephiroth."

"Yes, Cloud," Sephiroth said, straight-faced.

"I'm going to check on the chocobos."

"Yes, Cloud."

Cloud banged the door shut behind him but didn't lock it. Sephiroth curled his arms over his knees and finally gave way to his own smile.

*

They said goodbye to the chocobos at a clean, bright stable in northern Kalm - Edge was no place for chocobos, Cloud said, unbuckling Tyr's tack with a businesslike swiftness and pointedly stroking the gold's feathers. Sephiroth took the hint, turning away to leave the young man alone with his mount and to say farewell to his own Gleipnir.

"I will come back," he promised, though he didn't know how or when he would keep it. "You're too good to stay away from."

"Wark," Gleipnir warbled sadly, preening his hair. Sephiroth smiled helplessly and buried his fingers in the bird's feathers, skritching with all the will and skill he possessed - which wasn't much on either count, admittedly, but it seemed to be enough for the green. The bird fluffed up like a verdant dandelion, leaning on Sephiroth with more of his weight than was entirely safe, and crooned rapturously. Sephiroth found himself smiling, and promising again he would return to see his faithful bird.

"He's beautiful," said a soft, unfamiliar voice, and Sephiroth stiffened. Gleipnir raised his head and his crest in curiosity with just a hint of threat.

When Sephiroth turned, a dark-haired girl - young woman, really, old enough to try for Soldier if it still existed - was directing a polite smile at him, though her eyes were all for Gleipnir. She wore the tough cotton and leather gear of the dedicated jockey, all completely practical; a pale yellow feather hung from her headband. "I'm Chole," she said offhandedly, as if introducing oneself to other humans was an afterthought. "I take care of the birds."

Rather than offer his name, Sephiroth stepped aside to let Chole and Gleipnir greet each other. Gleipnir followed Sephiroth's movement, remaining close to his rider, but he slicked his crest back and allowed Chole to approach. Chole crooned, soft-voiced, and offered a hand to the green palm-down. Gleipnir lowered his beak - whether he recognized the gesture or was just following his natural curiosity, Sephiroth wasn't sure - and nibbled at Chole's leather a moment before allowing her to scratch the back of his head.

"Lovely bird," Chole murmured, her sleepy-eyed contentment matched with Gleipnir's own. "What's his name?"

"Gleipnir," Sephiroth answered, startled; Chole offered him a smile that was almost apologetic, as if she hadn't meant to forget he existed but couldn't help it when chocobos were involved. Sephiroth gave her a smile of his own, crooked and unsure, and she nodded to him and left them both with a final pat of Gleipnir's shoulder. Midway across the field, she met Cloud, approaching from the other direction; they exchanged a few words and parted again, and Cloud took Chole's place at Gleipnir's shoulder.

"Ready to go?" Cloud asked him, tugging on black leather riding gloves. A pair of goggles was perched on his forehead, pushing back his hair from his face; another pair dangled from his wrist. _Of course - he mentioned he had a motorcycle. We are to ride in his motorcycle from here to Midgar._

Sephiroth looked down pensively at his hands buried in Gleipnir's feathers, and said nothing. Cloud sighed. "I wouldn't have brought him here if it wasn't a good place for him," he said, more gently than he'd ever spoken to Sephiroth before. "He'll have the best greens and a run every day and a nice girl to groom his feathers." He indicated across the field with a gesture of his chin; Sephiroth looked, and saw Chole charming the bright blaze that was Tyr into submitting to feather-scratches. "He'll be fine," Cloud continued softly as Sephiroth watched. "I promise."

_Cloud keeps his promises._ Sephiroth nodded once, slowly, and stepped away from his faithful green. Gleipnir warbled and moved to follow. "No," Sephiroth said, hoarse but firm. "Stay here."

Gleipnir halted, and Sephiroth made himself turn away and follow Cloud. He looked back only once; when he was safely in the sidecar of Cloud's motorcycle, speeding away from the ranch. Gleipnir was a rapidly dimming flicker of green in the distance, blending into the Kalm grasses.

*

The Midgar scrublands were much as Sephiroth remembered, dusty and gray, populated by monsters that had grown hard and twisted as the landscape. Said monsters kept a respectful distance, wisely, Sephiroth thought: they weren't likely to find a bigger monster than the mad General himself. Yet something still felt off, and he didn't know what it was until he scanned the horizon for the fifth time.

The skyline was empty. Midgar was gone.

No towers. No Plate. The city that had been his home since his earliest memories was wiped off the map. With it, the world he'd known: Shinra and its endless, implacable march toward progress, his command, his mission, his _place_ in the world - it was lost, with no more trace than words written in sand and washed away by the surf. He was the last, twisted wreckage of a dead era - dead by his own hand, no less. Dead and unmourned.

"Cloud," he forced past a suddenly dry throat. "Cloud, stop."

Either Cloud didn't hear or wasn't inclined to obey; the bike thundered on over rock and sand, and Sephiroth could only grip his sidecar and try not to disgrace himself by throwing up or weeping. The sidecar rattled over the uneven ground, shaking him mercilessly. Powerless, Sephiroth could only hold on and endure.

He'd left handprints in the sidecar's metal by the time the motorcycle finally - _blessedly_ \- came to a halt. Shedding his borrowed goggles, Sephiroth stumbled out onto the rock and stood there, hunched and shaking, until some command of his own faculties returned to him. When he turned, Cloud was standing watching him, goggles forgotten in one hand.

_I lost control of myself,_ Sephiroth thought, ashamed; but all Cloud said was, "This way."

Cloud led the way up a steep hill that seemed well-trod to Sephiroth's keen eye, up to a sheer drop guarded by an old, battered buster sword. For a moment, Sephiroth didn't understand what he was seeing, even when he touched the roughened metal. "Was this yours?" he asked.

"It was Zack's," Cloud said, and Sephiroth's world crumbled for the second time in an hour.

He barely listened as Cloud told him how it happened: the five years trapped in Hojo's hidden laboratory in Nibelheim, the desperate flight to Midgar, and the firefight that had taken Zack Fair's life within sight of the floating city. For Sephiroth's part, all he could remember was the fight in the reactor: being so near (Mother) Jenova seemed to transform him into new heights of invincibility, himself and his sword. Zack had never had a chance.

"I didn't kill him," Sephiroth found himself saying without meaning to - without having meant to speak at all.

"You didn't strike the final blow," Cloud answered flatly.

Sephiroth sank to his knees with a sob he couldn't hide, arms clutched around his middle. "What a wretched monster I am," he said aloud. "My best friend is dead and I- I am glad I didn't kill him. Curse my black heart," he swore, with feeling; then the tears flooded his eyes and he couldn't hold back any longer.

Sephiroth wept for the first time - for Zack, for Midgar, for all he had lost and all he had destroyed. Through it all, Cloud watched over him, a silent and solemn-eyed guardian.

*

It was not much further to Edge, but it took so long for Sephiroth to cry himself out that it was nearly sunset by the time they arrived at their destination. Exiting the sidecar - no more handprints in the metal, he'd been careful - Sephiroth scanned the area in some bewilderment. The area seemed to be an intact part of the Slums, removed (or, perhaps, protected) from the devastation that Meteor had wrought on the rest of the city. Before him, a building, lovingly if inexpertly restored: a church, he thought, but he wasn't certain until Cloud led him inside.

It was a church, built in the old tradition, but there was nothing traditional about it now. Half of the pews had been cleared away, and the floor was carpeted in flowers. Sephiroth took a single step past the threshold, in a daze, and for a moment his vision doubled and he saw a flash of rose and ginger and impish green eyes-

"Aeris," he breathed.

When his vision cleared, Cloud was watching him with some surprise. "You see her too?" the younger man asked, and Sephiroth nodded wordlessly. "This was her place. Before - before everything." He turned away, trailed a hand along the back of one of the few remaining pews. "Nowadays there are flowers all over Edge, but back then this was the only place you could find any. I guess part of her never really left here."

Sephiroth thought about saying _I'm sorry,_ but he liked to think he was usually not quite that foolish. "They're beautiful," he murmured instead, looking down at the white bell-shaped flower nudging his boot.

Cloud took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength. "Yeah." He turned, brushing past Sephiroth's shoulder on his way back out the door. "You'd better stay here for now. I don't want to bring you by the bar until Tifa's had a chance to get used to the idea of you being alive."

"The woman I need to meet," Sephiroth guessed.

"Yeah." Cloud shook some of the travel dust from his clothes, ran a hand through his hair - it didn't make it any less disorderly, but Sephiroth didn't think much would. "I'll be back soon."

Sephiroth watched him leave, pushing the door closed behind him. He was still watching, a few seconds later, when Cloud re-entered the church backwards, bullied by a brown-haired woman in high dudgeon. _Cloud keeps his promises,_ Sephiroth found himself thinking again, but this time it was with a smile he had to work to hide.

"No, idiot, I know because Barret called me to warn me," the woman was rapping out, both fists wrapped in Cloud's shirt. "What were you planning, to not tell me until you invited him over for dinner?"

"Tifa," Cloud protested, and Sephiroth thought, _Ah._

"Don't you 'Tifa' me! After everything that's happened, everything he did-!" Tifa seemed to run dry of words long before she ran out of anger. She balled up a fist and smacked Cloud in the chest, not hard, but loudly. "Idiot," she repeated, thick-voiced, and smacked him again. Although she would have a hard time doing any real damage to Cloud, not being a SOLDIER herself - Sephiroth had feared she was, but her eyes were a reassuringly normal brown, and their brightness was only anger, not Mako - her hits landed with the accuracy of a professional and Cloud was doing nothing to defend himself.

Sephiroth steeled himself. "Excuse me."

Tifa turned her glare on him with full force, and Sephiroth almost faltered. There was no fear in the woman's eyes, but past the anger Sephiroth thought he recognized a profound, dearly-held grief. _Grief that I caused._ Bowing to the inevitable, Sephiroth inclined his head to her. "I believe I would be a more satisfying target."

Brown eyes glared fiercely into his own. Tifa let Cloud go, stalked up to him, and drew her arm back.

He'd been foolishly expecting a smack much like Cloud had received, loud but harmless, but Tifa's full-force punch into his solar plexus knocked him breathless and sent him straight on his ass on one of the pews. Mid-flight, he altered his earlier evaluation of the woman: she was fully capable of going toe-to-toe with a Soldier.

"Sephiroth, meet Tifa Lockheart," Cloud announced dryly as Sephiroth picked himself up again and regained his lost breath. "The only other survivor of Nibelheim."

Sephiroth looked into Tifa's face - still angry. One punch hadn't been enough. "I'm sorry," he said, and was rewarded with a brief look of shock.

"That isn't - it -" Tifa stammered, not out of fear but a complete inability to express herself. "It's nowhere near enough!"

"I know," Sephiroth said, and bowed his head. "I can't change what I've done."

He heard her give voice to an explosive growl, and thought that she would hit him again; instead Tifa turned away and laced her shaking hands in Cloud's shirt. 

"Outside," she said in an impressive imitation of a normal tone.

Cloud nodded and put an arm around her, guiding her back to the door. He cast Sephiroth a meaningful glare over Tifa's head - _stay here -_ as they exited the church, and Sephiroth sank down into the nearest intact pew with no thought of disobedience.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you," he heard Cloud murmur from outside. "I didn't know what I was going to do with him. I still don't know."

"Yeah." Tifa laughed humorlessly. "He's easier to know how to deal with when he's trying to kill you." A pause, then, "Do you really think he's...?"

"Sane? Yeah. For now, at least." Cloud took a deep, considering breath while Sephiroth's own breath hitched painfully in his chest. "I don't know how long that'll last. We can't let our guard down, ever." 

"I wasn't going to!" There was Tifa's anger again. "Gods, Cloud, I lost as much as you did that night."

"I know." There was a brief rustle of cloth and leather; an embrace, Sephiroth tentatively concluded. "I'll keep an eye on him, I promise."

_"We'll_ keep an eye on him, you mean."

"Tifa, it's too-"

"If you say 'dangerous,' Cloud, I'll hit you."

The tone of her voice promised a proper hit this time, too. Cloud wisely acquiesced. "Okay, all right. But it's only temporary, okay? Until we figure out what to do with him."

"Better be."

Sephiroth didn't want to hear any more. He walked down the central aisle, being careful not to tread on Aeris's flowers, and sat down by the bank. There was a shard of green glass on the ground, half-buried in the dirt amidst the flowers, and like he had in the Forgotten City, Sephiroth leaned forward and gazed at his reflection while he undid his braid. _I still hate what I see,_ he thought, watching his long fingers and unnatural skin and hair. _Perhaps some things even Aeris can't change._

Weariness swept over him. With his braid only half undone, Sephiroth climbed onto the nearest pew and stretched out full-length to rest his eyes for a few minutes.

*

Travel must have taken more out of him than he realized. When he came back to himself, the light had changed and there were whispers in the church.

Sephiroth held still, eyes closed, every nerve alert. The whisperers were stepping lightly, their movements furtive, but - untrained. Clumsy, even. He heard stifled giggles in a high register and realized with a start that the whisperers were _children._

Warm breath ghosted over his face. He opened his eyes.

He caught a glimpse of brown bangs, milky skin, and an expression going from curious to terrified before the child fled from him, dragging their - _her_ \- companion behind her by the wrist. Sephiroth struggled up on one elbow and watched as they fled through the doors. The girl's companion looked back once before they disappeared, and Sephiroth caught a flash of russet hair before he too was gone.

"Where did you come from," he asked the suddenly-empty air.

Cloud dropped by in the evening, bringing a bowl of lukewarm soup and the news that Tifa had been convinced to tolerate Sephiroth's presence - in the church if not in her more immediate domain of the bar. This was more than fair, Sephiroth acknowledged, and at Cloud's grudging nod of acknowledgement dared a little further. "Could I have some paper? An old notebook you're not using?"

Cloud's face creased. "Why?"

Sephiroth avoided his frown, glancing at the church door instead. "To keep myself occupied."

Cloud grunted. "I'll see what we have."

He left; Sephiroth forced himself to eat the entire bowl and tried to finish the book Shera let him borrow before it grew too dark to read, but couldn't quite manage it. There was nothing to do then but to lie down in his bedroll and try to sleep, but despite his travel-weariness, guilt and worry were a howling whirlwind in his head keeping him from sleeping. Morning was a long time in coming.

*

Cloud brought a lined composition notebook with breakfast, along with a pen with a pink feather sticking out of the end. "All I could find," he shrugged when Sephiroth squinted blearily at it.

Sephiroth schooled his expression immediately. "Thank you," he said. It was function, not form, that counted, and the pen still wrote. Even if the fluff on the end was highly distracting as Sephiroth wrote his own name on the front page.

"I'll be around," Cloud told him, turning to leave. "Don't go too far from the church."

"I won't. ...Cloud?" Sephiroth called to Cloud's retreating back. "I saw some children yesterday evening..."

Cloud didn't turn. "There's lots of kids around," he said evasively. "Leave them alone." Sephiroth swallowed, stung, but this time he let Cloud go.

When he could no longer hear Cloud's boots on the dirt outside, Sephiroth turned to the next page in his notebook and tore it carefully out. "Let's see if I remember how to do this," he murmured.

His first attempt tore. His second was a mess of crumpled paper and wound up being sent sailing over the church pews. His third was a bit crooked, but recognizable as an origami chocobo. Sephiroth held it up, far too pleased with himself and thinking (a little longingly) of Gleipnir.

_Hojo never knew I learned this. ...it wasn't enough to save me in the end, but I did learn a few things he would never have approved of._

Sephiroth set the chocobo aside and set to work folding another one. If the children returned, perhaps they would find these and know that the man in the church, monster though he was, meant them no harm.

*

_The wolf was back, licking his cheeks with a strange, tender urgency. Sephiroth raised a hand to ward him off and found himself stroking the animal's ears instead, and wondered at his loss of control. "Thank you for seeing me off the Crater," he said aloud, for lack of any other idea of what to say._

_"He's been with you ever since then, Sephiroth." Aeris sat down beside him, and Sephiroth didn't question her presence. "When you cried at the cliff where his sword is, he howled."_

_Sephiroth looked down, surprised, and the wolf laid his head in his lap and looked up at him with soulful violet eyes. "Zack," he breathed, the name escaping him before he had time to hold it back. He surely didn't have the right to pronounce his friend's name, much less have that soft-furred head in his lap-!_

_As if privy to his shame, Zack surged up to lick his face again at the same time as Aeris wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You have the right," she said, as the lupine Zack nosed under his chin with a whine. "And the responsibility. Zack is your friend and always will be - how sad would he be if you forgot him?" There was a smile in the young Cetra's voice that wrapped warmth around Sephiroth._

_"I will never forget," he promised, and let the tears come-_

*

Sephiroth opened his eyes. There was a boy hovering over him, wide-eyed and curious and unafraid, and the dark red of his hair was familiar.

"Denzel!" a voice hissed, tense and childish, from the church door. "Tifa said not to do that!"

"I know, just hang on," the boy called Denzel said as Sephiroth sat up. The origami chocobos Sephiroth had set on the altar before lying down for a nap were cradled gently in the boy's hands. "You were crying," Denzel added to Sephiroth himself.

Sephiroth stared him, momentarily wrong-footed. _I let a stranger see me cry?_ He _could_ feel tear tracks on his face, and reached up to rub them away. "Yes," he answered in a sleep-raspy murmur.

"Why?"

The boy had far fewer restraints on his behavior than Sephiroth had at his age; he found that he approved. "I was dreaming of my friend, who died years ago," he answered, deciding on honesty as the best course.

Denzel at least had enough grace to look sad. "I'm sorry. I've lost friends too." He also had enough grace to pause for a few breaths before continuing his line of questioning. "What was his name?"

Though it hurt, Sephiroth smiled as he answered. "His name was Zack. Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class."

"Zack!" As if the name were a summoning spell, Denzel's friend hurried to them and flopped down next to Denzel. "Cloud only talked about him a little, but _we_ know he's an important person. I'm Marlene," she concluded breathlessly, and grinned when Denzel dropped one of the chocobos in her lap. "These are really cute. I like chocobos."

"Pleased to meet you, Marlene." Sephiroth nodded to her politely. Marlene had slick brown hair pulled back in a ponytail (with a pink ribbon, and Sephiroth's breath caught at that just a little), in contrast to Denzel's unruly red-brown mop. Both of them had wide, eager eyes, Marlene's brown and Denzel's blue, trained on him like a pair of fresh recruits. Sephiroth swallowed hard.

"So?" Marlene demanded. _"Tell_ us about Zack. Cloud won't." Perhaps not that much like recruits after all, Sephiroth thought.

"He... loved life, and loved to laugh," he began hesitantly, and was emboldened when the children settled in to listen. "He always had a kind word for everyone. You would have liked him, I think," he offered shyly. The children smiled.

"He was also very skilled. He achieved the rank of First Class at age eighteen, something no one had ever done before. He was... nearly my equal at fighting." The memory of their final match panged, threatening to overwhelm him; he pushed it back. "He enjoyed combat, but I think what was most important to him was protecting people. That's why he joined SOLDIER; that's why he worked as hard as he did to be the best he could."

Marlene frowned, eyebrows pulling together. "But Shinra didn't protect anybody. It just built mako reactors and sucked up the Lifestream."

Sephiroth couldn't begrudge the girl her views; he couldn't even say they weren't justified. "Shinra's motives were not pure," he said carefully. "It was a weapons manufacturing company before it was an energy company, after all, and weapons manufacturers only thrive where there is conflict. But the people who worked for Shinra weren't all evil - most of them were making a living the best way they could, and some had only the most noble of intentions."

"Like Reeve," Denzel put in, nodding understandingly.

Sephiroth blinked. "Reeve Tuesti? Is he still alive?"

The children brightened. "Reeve's the leader of the World Regenesis Organization. He's helping rebuild everything that got broken after Meteor," Marlene informed him proudly. Something must have showed on Sephiroth's face at that, despite his best efforts; the girl's face turned stricken. "I'm sorry."

"I - I should be the one apologizing." Sephiroth turned his face away from the children's dark eyes. "I was unforgivably stupid, at Nibelheim and after." Marlene and Denzel reached out at the same moment, each slipping a hand into his and holding it tight. Sephiroth's throat closed and he hid behind his hair, not wanting to display his weakness to them a second time.

"It's okay," Denzel said quietly, and squeezed Sephiroth's hand.

"You're not a bad person," Marlene added, smiling bravely up at him. "Maybe you were before, but you're not now."

There was nothing Sephiroth could say to that, not without betraying himself. The children seemed to accept his silence, though, and settled in on either side of him. Their warmth soothed him, as the presence of human beings so near seldom did.

"Tell us more about Zack?" Marlene asked.

Sephiroth smiled, tilted his head back, and began. "When Zack made Soldier, he was issued a certain chocobo..." The children glanced at each other and giggled, wiggling their origami toys at each other - chocobos on the march.

*

_"Kids."_

Denzel and Marlene sat bolt upright. "Tifa!"

Sephiroth looked, fighting the impulse to duck like a third guilty child. Tifa stood just inside the doorway, one hand on her hip. "What did I tell you about coming to the church last night?" she demanded evenly.

"Not to," Denzel admitted.

Tifa started walking forward, each step quiet and deliberate. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"We weren't gonna stay long," Denzel protested weakly. "We just wanted a look at him. We just-"

"He tells _stories,_ Tifa," Marlene insisted, as if such a thing could wipe away the collective sins of all three. "And look - he made these!" She thrust her origami chocobo out to Tifa like an offering. "Aren't they cool?"

The corner of Tifa's mouth twitched. "Go outside, Cloud's waiting. You can explain this to him."

With twin apologetic looks, Denzel and Marlene got up and filed out of the church, like conscripts marching toward a reprimand. Tifa waited until they were out of the building before approaching their third co-conspirator. Sephiroth remained seated, his hands carefully in his lap, but rather than attack or yell at him Tifa sat down in a pew with a tired sigh.

"Marlene's the daughter of a friend - Barret." She smiled wryly at Sephiroth's quizzical look. "Yeah, that Barret. About a year after Nibelheim, there was an accident at the Corel reactor. Shinra burned Corel to the ground in retaliation for supposedly harboring terrorists. Marlene's parents and Barret's wife both died in the attack."

_A tragedy in this world that I can't be blamed for,_ went a crooked thought in Sephiroth's head. _How shocking._

Tifa's next words, measured and calm, killed that thought. "Denzel's from Midgar. His caretaker died when Meteor came down."

Sephiroth shut his eyes tightly, his only concession to a sudden need to - what? Curse, punch something, throw himself on his sword? Somehow, though, Tifa seemed to understand his silence. "I only told you because you needed to know," she said, and her voice was - if not gentle, then at least not filled with the hatred she must have felt for him. "It wasn't to rub your past in your face."

"It's not as if Denzel is the first orphan I've made," Sephiroth said bleakly. "There's a whole generation of them just reaching adulthood in Wutai."

"That's-" Tifa paused. "No," she said slowly, "I'm not going to say 'that's different.' But- you met Yuffie at Cid's house, right?"

Sephiroth blinked up at her. "Yes?"

"She's the Kisaragi heir. Wutai royal family." She actually laughed at Sephiroth's shocked look, shaking her head. "If forgiveness is what you're after, you could start with her." She turned away before he could respond.

She was through the door and out of sight, but Sephiroth still counted to ten before getting up. He paused when he heard Cloud's voice outside. "You're not really angry."

"I'm a little angry," Tifa protested.

"At nine years old, you wouldn't have been able to resist either."

"Neither would you." There was warmth in her voice. "Besides, seeing him with them like that..."

"What?"

"...Gods help me, I kind of want to _feed_ him."

Cloud actually started laughing, and Sephiroth covered his mouth when he realized he was laughing too.


	5. Chapter 4: Aeris's Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth tries to get his feet under him, but a figure from his past threatens to sweep them out from under him again. Also, spicy food is horrible.

_The Buster drove into his chest, severing ribs, slicing his lung, and cutting his heart nearly in two. Sephiroth looked up through a sickly green fog; it cleared, revealing Zack’s face - his expression twisted with anger and misery._

_“Zack,” Sephiroth protested. “I’m not the man I was.”_

_In response, Zack flexed his arms, muscles bulging, and drove the heavy sword in deeper. The green fog flared around him as he gasped in agony, then cleared; this time it was another face glaring down at him, another pair of hands holding the Buster._

_“Cloud...” Sephiroth relaxed. This made much more sense._

_He already knew Cloud hated him._

Sephiroth opened his eyes. He was alone; his body was whole. Just a dream, then. With a groan, he sat up, shaking his head to dispel the angry faces. The flowers and sunlight of Aeris’s church welcomed him; it occurred to him that for the first time in his life, nothing was preventing him from lying back down on his pallet and drowsing until noon.

He got up, puttered about the sparse amenities Cloud had provided for him (some non-perishable vaguely foodlike items, plus coffee - the man wasn't _cruel_ ), and then succumbed to the soft siren's call of his pallet and lay back down again.

_The wolf - Zack - was there again, and this time Sephiroth was wise enough to simply accept his presence. He watched, calm, as Zack trotted at the border of Aeris's flowers, ears up and alert._

_"Are you still guarding me from bad dreams?" he asked. "You let one slip."_

_Zack turned to him then, ears flattening and tail tucking down, and the vivid violet eyes were so sorrowful that Sephiroth's heart broke. He'd meant it only as a gentle jest, the kind that Zack had used on him so often, but it seemed he'd gotten it wrong again. "Forgive me," he began, lowering his gaze, and that was as far as he got before a heap of whining black fur hit him in the chest._

_For a ghost, Zack was remarkably solid, or perhaps it was only his own expectations that sent him tumbling backwards, pinned under heavy, furry warmth as Zack whimpered and licked his face. It took both hands on the wolf's head to get him to pause, even for a moment, so that Sephiroth could speak._

_"As much as I would prefer only the good dreams," he murmured, "perhaps I_ must _go through the nightmares. You needn't be quite so zealous." He stroked the ears until they perked up again. "Just stay with me," he asked. "That is already more than enough."_

_The lick he received then was less an apology, more fond reproval - he could almost hear Zack saying_ you know I'll always watch your back, boss -

Sephiroth opened his eyes, nerves singing with sudden awareness, and he had only a moment to feel childishly bereft before the source of his sudden wakefulness - a soft sound, a scrape of leather on stone - became too clear to ignore. He stored up the memory of warm wolf fur in his heart and sat up to meet the cautious-excited eyes of Marlene and Denzel.

"More stories?" he guessed, and the children grinned.

"Please?" Marlene begged, and Sephiroth shifted to one side to give them room.

*

"This is a bad idea."

Cloud gave him an arch look from his guard post, which happened to just be a convenient bit of wall to lean against, as casual as you please. "This was _your_ idea."

"As if that made it a good one," Sephiroth muttered, but his fingers were already working on the keys of the public console. They were scattered all over the city for people to deposit, withdraw, and otherwise manage what money they had, and most of them were working just fine, he was told; Edge may be a city carved out of the rubble, but its economic infrastructure was surprisingly intact.

"You're the one who insisted on this," Cloud was arguing, impatient with Sephiroth's hedging, no doubt. "If your old account with Shinra is still active, you'll be the richest man in Edge, for whatever that's worth."

"Not much for myself," Sephiroth admitted, tapping warily at the keys as if he expected the harmless-looking console to sprout a gun and shoot him. "But I want to repay Tifa."

"She'll make you eat it."

The prediction, made with wry amusement, made Sephiroth pause and look up. "She'll be... insulted by the offer? Or is it money from my hand she won't abide taking?"

"You're a guest," Cloud said simply, after a short pause.

"She has a business to run." Sephiroth turned back to the console. "She can't keep feeding me without compensation. My caloric requirements-"

"Are no different from mine," Cloud said, flat stubborn, almost daring Sephiroth to call him a burden on Tifa. Sephiroth sighed, conceding the argument.

"I'm still going to make the offer," he said, and finally the Shinra account system loaded on the screen, and he hesitated. The interface had been drastically pared down in the ten years since his first death - or perhaps it was only since Meteor that Rufus Shinra felt the need to present a lower profile even on the datanet. Far from the bombastic design and slick effects - slick for their time, anyway - the interface was simple blue-and-white, and Sephiroth felt a strange sense of unreality as he entered his passcode.

_Not found,_ the site spat out after a frozen pause. Sephiroth frowned.

"No luck?" Cloud asked.

"Let me try something else." The outward appearance may have changed, but if the Shinra site was hosted on the same server...

Two passcodes later (they came to him so easily, he marveled, when the rest of his memory was tattered), he had access to the back ways of the Shinra database. The employee rolls were far, far shorter than he remembered, even allowing for employees who might not be on the official rolls, such as Turks. The database also showed signs of recent activity - monetary transfers in and out of separate accounts. "Is Shinra still active?" he asked cautiously, eyes on the screen.

He heard Cloud shift in a shrug. "Rufus claims to be making reparations for the damage Shinra did. He's financed some WRO missions. If it were up to me, I wouldn't take his money, but Reeve isn't so picky."

If it were up to Sephiroth, he wouldn't have taken the money either. But Reeve, whatever his good points, was an executive. He knew how to wield money like magic, to get the results he wanted. Perhaps that was what this world needed.

"I don't see my name here," he said, scrolling down to the bottom and then back up again quickly. "It looks like my account's been deleted."

"So, the money you'd saved up...?"

"Gone." Sephiroth sighed and logged out. "It was too much to hope for."

Cloud shrugged again, not arguing the point. "Come on. I've got some errands to run for Tifa."

Sephiroth logged out of the console, eyes uncomfortably down. "Surely you don't need me for that, Cloud. I'll just go back to the church."

"If you think I'm letting you out of my sight for an instant, Sephiroth, you're still crazy."

Sephiroth's hands tightened in his gloves. "I apologize." Cloud had spoken the words lightly, almost friendly. But there was a hardness behind them that made clear he would allow no rebellion on Sephiroth's part. He would be compelled to leave the relative safety of this all-but-abandoned plaza, and go with Cloud into the more populated parts of Edge, to walk among the humans he'd tried to kill. And, just as he had always done, he would obey without a fight.

"Come on," Cloud said again, after an uncomfortable pause, and Sephiroth moved away from the console to follow Cloud into Edge proper.

*

Five years after Meteor, Edge had settled into a kind of wary equilibrium. Businesses had returned to the area in the wake of the WRO's rebuilding efforts. Now the main thoroughfare bustled, people filling the streets, shopping, arguing, shouting at darting masses of kids.

It was overwhelming. Cloud let Sephiroth wait outside while he ducked into a cramped salvage shop, but each sideways glance on the street threatened to send him climbing the wall he leaned against. With his hair braided and tucked into the nondescript jacket Cloud had scrounged for him, a cap pulled low over his face, he could hope that no one here would recognize him, even vaguely from a news broadcast or article from before Midgar's destruction.

_Before I killed Midgar._

When Cloud emerged, Sephiroth half expected it to be with a sword in his hand, rather than a pair of PHS batteries. He straightened hurriedly, schooling himself to obedient calmness in response to Cloud's querying glance. After a moment, Cloud shrugged, and they went on.

"That's new," Cloud told him, gesturing to a bank of gray buildings rising beyond the bypass. "Residential buildings. For people who want a view other than wreckage, I guess - they're pretty expensive for Edge."

"Cheerful," Sephiroth observed.

Cloud snorted unwilling amusement. "Reeve said the same thing. He was saying that architecture has to bow to economy these days, but that he goes through half a bottle of antacids every time he comes to Edge."

Now it was Sephiroth's turn to fail to suppress a laugh and sound entirely undignified in the process. "Do you talk to Reeve often?"

Cloud shrugged. "He throws work my way. Usually monster extermination - he has his own couriers."

"You must be in high demand in that field."

Cloud's back noticeably tightened, but he didn't sound angry when he answered. "Not as much anymore."

Sephiroth considered asking further, but a pair of children rushed past him, nearly colliding with his knees in their haste. He jumped, but aside from a fading shout of 'Sorry!' he wasn't acknowledged. Chagrined - he knew better than to lose his situational awareness like that! - he glanced around to spot any further threats to his knees. They were in a produce market, surrounded by heaps of leafy things and colorful, swollen root vegetables with the dirt still clinging to them. Cloud was ignoring him, pawing through a bin full of peppers that shone like polished Materia and smelled like pure evil. Sephiroth sidled closer to him and watched with quiet dismay as the younger man picked out a few and paid for them.

"Do you like Gangolan food?" Cloud asked.

_Gangol -_ the peninsular region including Gongaga, where Zack was from. Sephiroth's head ached with the effort of holding the memory, following the thread of it - Zack's glowing eyes as he waved a bite of something steaming and fragrant at him, his laugh as Sephiroth finally acquiesced to try it and immediately regretted it-

"I was never _that_ crazy," he grunted, and was immediately horrified at himself. Cloud surprised him with a laugh.

"I'm a northern boy. If I can handle it, so can you."

"Those things," Sephiroth stated flatly, eyeing the bin of peppers, "are literally not meant for mammalian consumption."

"Wuss."

"No, really. They evolved to be eaten by chocobos, so that the chocobos would subsequently spread the seeds. Chocobos lack the ability to taste capsaicin; we do not. That is why peppers _have_ capsaicin in the first place."

_"Wuss."_

Sephiroth shook his head. "Military rations might be dull but they don't make your head explode."

"I'll tell Tifa to go easy on you."

"Thank you," Sephiroth sighed, trying to hide how much Cloud's amusement pleased him. "I'm sure she'll listen."

*

Tifa did not go easy on him, but she did make plenty of rice to go with the melted-down core of a Mako reactor she and Cloud passed off as Gangolan cuisine. Sephiroth filled up on that as he sat crosslegged in the church, gazing up through the hole in the ceiling at the stars.

Stargazing in Midgar had been impossible: even above-plate, the light pollution and air pollution had drowned out all but a few of them. Now what little sky he could see was festooned with them, resplendent and silent and so very far away, even to his eyes.

From those stars, Jenova had come to Gaia long ago. She had promised him that he would sail those stars with her.

The memory sent a chill down his spine and he turned his face down, shutting his eyes tightly. Jenova had lied to him and used him and transmogrified him, but she'd also made him feel _beloved,_ as nobody else in his life ever had. Even knowing exactly what she was, Sephiroth suddenly missed her so badly it left a hollow ache below his breastbone.

_Maybe Aeris was wrong. Could a simple virus simulate love so closely? Could a virus understand 'mother' and 'son' enough to speak of them to me?_

_But then, I'd never had a mother. What do I know about it?_

Sephiroth set his empty bowl to the side and drew his knees up. Nights like this made the oppression of his exile bear down on him all the heavier, his memories bite all the harder. It had been weeks since he'd come to Edge. He filled his days with what weaponless martial arts exercises he could still remember, meditation, and visits from Marlene and Denzel after their lessons; Cloud rarely accompanied them, but made sure Sephiroth knew he was within SOLDIER-earshot. Cloud's company itself was a silent, hard thing, infrequently offered and as comforting as Shinra Tower, and the fact that it was all Sephiroth had did nothing to soften the edges of Cloud's silence. Most nights, Sephiroth could tell himself that longing for more human contact meant he _was_ human, after all, or near enough. Tonight... tonight, he wasn't so sure.

_Whatever I am, human or monster or some strange mixture of the two..._

Sephiroth shook his head, dismissing the thought with an effort. That was a path he didn't have the mental strength to walk down, not yet. There was no need to do Hojo's work for him all over again.

He set his bowl aside and lay back, eyes slitting half-closed. He was restless and resentful and just a little afraid of himself, but he could still watch the stars.

*

The cautious step could have been Cloud, checking up on him before going for his morning run; the faint smell of electricity was not. Sephiroth's eyes snapped open and he rolled just as the magrod came down, thunking down on the folded sweatshirt that served him as a pillow. His assailant turned, lashing out again as Sephiroth got his feet under him, and this time it came close enough to fill his ears with a dangerous hum. If that thing hit him, it would paralyze him - not for long, perhaps, but long enough for a clever and prepared opponent to take advantage. Sephiroth coiled, and counterattacked.

He saw a blue suit and a flash of green eyes, wide with adrenaline. His assailant was skilled, and fast, but unaugmented - but then, so was Tifa, and Sephiroth knew not to underestimate her. A feint led them to the edge of the clear space where the flowers were, and his assailant hesitated - just long enough. Sephiroth blurred into motion and lashed out, kicking the magrod out of the other's hand and knocking him to the floor with a ridgehand strike. The man in the suit wheezed angrily, but that was all he had time for before Sephiroth descended, planting a knee on his chest.

"That's enough."

Sephiroth stopped, heart and head thudding at the sound of that clipped voice from behind him. The man under him wriggled like an eel. "Damn," he husked. "And I thought you'd have got rusty."

"I have," Sephiroth answered, never taking his eyes off his captive. "Ten years ago I would have killed you, _Turk._ "

The Turk grinned as the owner of the new voice stepped closer. His suit was black, impeccably pressed - and his presence was impossible. "General," said Tseng, and his voice was so gentle, so _forgiving_ that Sephiroth wanted to cry. "Let Reno up, please."

Sephiroth didn't move until he saw Reno's eyes crease in amusement and knew that he'd allowed him to see - both of them to see - how much the presence of a man he'd respected and that he remembered killing unsettled him. "If you wished to have me killed, you should have sent him with Materia at the very least," he said, lifting himself up and off of the Turk.

"That isn't why I'm here," Tseng answered, and as Reno scrambled up and backed off - keeping a good six inches' distance between himself and the main flower bed - Sephiroth finally looked his former colleague in the face. Tseng was - the same as always, time having barely begun to mark his face, still wearing the same cool, enigmatic half-smile that had become a constant in Sephiroth's life when they had been acquaintances and colleagues. It had almost been a comfort, that smile - it meant secrets, and Sephiroth had spent his life surrounded by them, controlled by them.

Remembering didn't make Sephiroth more kindly-disposed to either of them. "How did you find me," he grated, knowing they could see his muscles tense and not caring. 

"You used your account passcode on a public terminal," Tseng pointed out, and Sephiroth swore at himself in the privacy of his own head. "From there it was simple to find you."

"Guess you are getting rusty in your old age," Reno muttered with ill grace, and Sephiroth swallowed a growl with an effort. Tseng flicked a quelling hand in Reno's direction, never taking his eyes off Sephiroth. Sephiroth didn't respond, waiting the Turk out, and after a few moments of mild-eyed staring Tseng bent his head a fraction in acknowledgement and spoke first.

"I'm glad to see you well," he offered, and Sephiroth's shoulders tightened with guilt.

"I'm... glad you survived," he admitted, and Tseng's eyes actually crinkled. A real smile? Or an act? "But you didn't have your subordinate attack me just to hear that," he added.

"No, I didn't." Tseng's eyes didn't flicker towards Reno, didn't give anything away at all. "It was a test. I apologize for waking you, but I wanted to gauge if you still had a measure of your old skill."

Sephiroth's heart sank faintly - this was leading nowhere good. "Now you know I do. Don't do that again, Tseng. I can't speak to my restraint."

Tseng's head tipped to the side. "Interesting." The tension in Sephiroth's shoulders got worse. "I'm not here to judge. We've all done things we regret, but a man of your skill and experience can still do a lot of good in the world, General. I'm here to offer you a chance to do just that."

That tension bloomed into a full-blown sinking feeling, and Sephiroth swallowed past a throat gone suddeny, painfully dry. "A Turk with a magrod is a kidnapping, Tseng, not a job offer. What if I say no?"

Tseng spread his hands, conspicuously empty. "Then we walk away. But I ask that you at least consider the offer - I have no illusions you'll accept right away in any case."

Sephiroth blinked once, slowly. "You want me to return to Shinra Company."

Tseng's hands folded. "Hojo is dead. The elder Shinra is dead. No one is going to manipulate or use you this time. I'm sure you would prefer to work under a shield of anonymity - we can arrange that. Rufus Shinra is eager to make reparations for the mistakes of his father, and has already committed his family's holdings to that end - as I'm sure you've heard from Strife." Sephiroth's mind momentarily blanked until he remembered _that's Cloud's family name. He was Trooper Strife back then, wasn't he?_

_...Cloud. I wonder if they made him the same offer._

Sephiroth deliberately took a step back, drawing a breath and letting his hands curl into fists. "You're wasting your time. I didn't come back to get roped into the same system all over again."

There went the knowing headtilt again. "Why did you come back, then, Sephiroth?" Sephiroth tried not to flinch. "I won't pretend to understand what you've been through, but if I were in your shoes... I would jump at the opportunity to mend what I'd broken."

_Damn you, Tseng._ Sephiroth's tongue stuck in his mouth, all he could do was stare resentfully until Tseng apparently decided his point had been made. He nodded to Sephiroth, gestured a command to Reno and walked unconcernedly back up the aisle again. Reno followed in much more of a hurry, stealing glances back at Sephiroth the whole time, but pausing only once to collect his magrod before moving out.

Sephiroth sat heavily on the floor, folding his long legs underneath him. His hands were shaking as he pitched his voice upward to the hole in the roof. "Did they offer you the same thing?"

Cloud didn't look surprised Sephiroth knew he was there. He emerged from his perch and joined Sephiroth on the ground in three graceful leaps, rafter to balcony to nave. "A couple of times," he admitted. "All of us - the people who traveled with me, I mean - we've all heard the offer at one time or another. Except Yuffie. And Nanaki. Rufus isn't quite that stupid."

He was smirking, inviting Sephiroth to share in the joke at Rufus's expense, but Sephiroth couldn't find a smile to give back to him. He directed his gaze down again; Cloud fidgeted a moment, then sighed. "If you decide to go with them..."

"...you'll kill me, I know."

"I was about to say, I won't stand in your way." Sephiroth looked up, shocked; Cloud had his arms crossed over his chest and was frowning over Sephiroth's head. "I don't trust them, I don't think it's a good idea, but I'm pretty sure they've gotten out of the Mako enhancement business. They don't have access to that kind of equipment anymore," he added. "And with Hojo gone, they wouldn't be able to replicate the process anyway."

Trust Cloud to check things like that. "I really am glad Tseng survived," he blurted, running a hand through his hair. "And it would be - convenient. To have company backing."

"So you're considering it?"

Cloud sounded so casual - maybe he really _didn't_ mind. Sephiroth clenched his teeth. "I'd sooner clean out a reactor core. With a toothbrush," he said.

Cloud actually laughed at that - more a surprised splutter, but he was amused all the same. Somehow, Sephiroth felt a little better.

*

"If you're looking for a job," Tifa said, wafting the damp sheet over the line with the deftness of practice, "why don't you go with Cloud next time he does a delivery?"

Sephiroth, who'd never had to do his own laundry in his life, was relegated to sock-hanging duty. "I'm sure he'd prefer a break from me," he demurred, carefully clipping Denzel's chocobo socks onto the line. "Besides, he's more than capable of handling himself; I would be a burden, not a help."

Tifa's brows drew together faintly. She'd begun to accept Sephiroth a little, he thought - he hoped - but he wasn't willing to push for more than she offered. A task to perform and some brief conversation was a generous gift coming from a woman whose father he'd killed in front of her, and helped to fill his days. Still, he suspected that she too would like a break from having him haunt her domain at all hours, hence her suggestion.

"I'm sure there's still a need for monster extermination in the area, if...?" he offered tentatively.

"Mmm... some," Tifa admitted. "For some reason the monsters don't run too close to Edge."

There was a new softness in her eyes, one that said she knew exactly what that reason was. Sephiroth made a private guess that the reason had something to do with why there were flowers in ridiculous profusion in the church. He bent and retrieved another sock; poking through the basket for its partner, he said, "It's the activity I'm interested in, more than the money, though being able to contribute to my upkeep - it would be nice. I'm - not used to not having something to do."

"Shinra worked you pretty hard, huh?"

The question surprised him, coming from Tifa, enough that he actually paused to think about it, sifting through the relatively safe memories of his early life. Tifa retrieved another sheet from the laundry basket, shaking it out without letting it brush the ground as she let the silence linger. "I... suppose," Sephiroth admitted at last. "I don't have a basis for comparison, but my days were always tightly scheduled. Even as a child there was always training and studying in between lab time." 

Tifa's eyes flickered up to his. "You didn't have any friends as a kid? Or classmates?"

"Classmates, yes, but they were always older than me. My enhancements were mental as well as physical, and normal children in my age group simply couldn't keep up with me. The few attempts Shinra made at socializing me didn't go well." He directed a smile at the basket of damp socks, bitter and rueful. "I was a poor playmate."

He felt Tifa's eyes on him, but without looking up he couldn't begin to guess what she felt. Amazement? Pity? Resentment? He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "You get along with Marlene and Denzel pretty well," she observed, graciously enough all things considered.

"That is due to their patience with me," Sephiroth answered as he pinned another pair of socks on the line. "And - well - I'm not so impressed with myself these days as I was back then."

Tifa muffled a snicker behind the damp sheet. Sephiroth felt his heart lighten a bit, and wondered at himself learning a new way to interact with people at his age. First Cloud and now Tifa - every once in a while, he could make them laugh a little, and it felt like an assurance of safety when he managed to do so.

"In any case, a job that would take me out of Mid- ...Edge," he corrected himself, flushing as Tifa hid her expression behind her laundry again, "might be safest for everyone right now. Tseng all but said outright they'd be back for me, and I don't want the Turks near the children."

"Me either." Tifa stepped back, satisfied: her laundry basket was empty. "Well, we can talk to Cloud when he gets back. Maybe he'll have a suggestion."

"Is he on another courier job?" Sephiroth asked. He almost said _assignment,_ but Cloud was self-employed. No one assigned him anything - the jobs he took were completely at his discretion. How strange.

Tifa grinned at him again, eyes dancing with a wicked light. "Not exactly."

*

"Do it again, Cloud!"

Cloud checked very carefully around himself for small people before he obliged. He lifted his sword free of its back harness, took the familiar 'lunge' stance necessary for the heavy weapon, then stepped forward and performed the one-handed overhead twirl that, even five years on, was still his 'signature' display move. The assembled schoolkids cheered and clapped from behind the school's fence, the teacher and her aides smiling indulgently as he sheathed his weapon again.

Sephiroth, half-hidden in the shadow of a nearby building, lifted his eyebrows. "This is what he does in the daytime?"

"Three days a week, two hours a day," Tifa informed him.

"He does sword demonstrations for children two hours a day?"

Tifa spluttered on a laugh. "No! He leads small groups of them in exercises, team sports, self-defense, that kind of thing. The sword demonstrations are a treat for when they've done well."

For Sephiroth, whose 'treat' for doing well had been an increased intensity or an extra lesson, the idea was alien. But the children appeared to approve, surrounding Cloud with their chatter as he approached. He wasn't very good at judging their ages, but the smallest among their number appeared to be five or so and the biggest, a gangly-limbed twelve. Next to the twelve-year-old, he caught sight of a bouncing brown braid and an unruly red mop.

"Oh," he murmured with the shock of recognition.

Tifa must have caught where he was looking. "Cloud started doing this to help pay for Marlene and Denzel's lessons, but now the school's pulling in enough that he gets a small salary from it. He'll probably keep doing it after Marlene goes back to Corel."

Sephiroth glanced at her, startled. "Corel?"

"Where Barret lives," Tifa reminded him. "She's only living with us here because there aren't any schools in Corel, but Barret's helping rebuild the town. Eventually she's going to go live with him."

Sephiroth looked back at the throng of children as the teachers herded them back inside. "What about Denzel?"

Tifa hummed thoughtfully. "We're still talking that over. I think Denzel's still deciding what he wants - he's got time. Another year at least."

Sephiroth nodded carefully, and tried not to wonder why the thought of Denzel being separated from either Marlene or Cloud and Tifa made him feel so oddly worried.

Cloud had spotted them and was sauntering over, and Sephiroth set his worry over Denzel's fate aside. "I normally charge a hundred gil a show," he informed them, and Tifa grinned wryly. "Something wrong?"

"Just taking a walk," Tifa answered easily, and Cloud glanced between the two of them - _with him?_ his glance seemed to be pointing out. Tifa ignored the look. "Sephiroth's finally decided to get off his ass and look for a job."

"I beg your pardon," Sephiroth protested quietly, but Cloud's mouth was twitching upward in a smile and he thought _I'm not the only one who enjoys making people laugh._

"Why can't he work at the bar?" Cloud asked. "Stick him in the back, have him wash the dishes."

Tifa glanced Sephiroth up and down, as though judging his fitness for such a task. "...no. Just - no." Sephiroth's shoulders hunched. "Besides, with the Turks sniffing around at him..."

Cloud grimaced. "Right. Well, there's always monsters to kill somewhere. I'll ask Reeve if he's got any bounties lined up."

Tifa nodded, and Sephiroth relaxed again - this was familiar territory, receiving missions, and Cloud was far preferable a superior - until Cloud cast a speculative eye his way. "I guess I'll have to loan you a sword," he said grudgingly, and Sephiroth's heart twisted.

_Masamune._ No sword would ever fell quite right in his hands after her.

"I understand," he made himself say. "Perhaps I could buy one from you, with the bounty money?"

"It'll take a few bounties," Cloud answered doubtfully, and turned back toward home. Tifa walked easily beside him, and Sephiroth fell into step behind them both like a soldier after his commanders. "I mostly only have heavy swords," Cloud commented over his shoulder as they walked. "Will that work for you?"

"I can use them," Sephiroth assured him, and Cloud let him be to think over his options.

Brood over them, really - the part of him not mourning Masamune occupied itself with wondering whether Cloud really trusted him with a weapon, whether he trusted _himself_ with a weapon.

Halfway home, Cloud muffled a giggle. "What?" Tifa demanded.

"Just..." Cloud glanced back over his shoulder to a mystified Sephiroth. "Um. I was trying to think what else he could do and the image of Sephiroth selling peppers out of a market stall popped into my head..."

He giggled again, and Sephiroth wasn't sure whether he was amused, or - kind of hurt. "Surely not peppers," he said, and Cloud's giggles became a full-out laugh. "But surely I could manage exchanging goods for gil,"

"It's a lot of dealing with people." Tifa turned around to grin at him. "You'd have to be friendly. And smile once in a while."

"...point taken," Sephiroth said, and waited until Tifa had turned around again to let his shoulders hunch up in embarrassment.

*

_"You could always sell flowers," Aeris suggested brightly as she and Sephiroth sat together, their laps full of wolf._

_Sephiroth raised an eyebrow as the wolf's tail thumped. "I would, but there's a bit of a glut in the market these days."_

_"Huh." Aeris smugly combed her fingernails through the fur on the top of Zack's head. "I wonder how that happened."_


	6. Chapter 5: Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time since his second death, Sephiroth takes up arms and Materia and hunts. The place is the Condor settlement. The target is a dragon rider, all the more dangerous for being so far from its native territory. The hunter? Well, he's still carrying some baggage around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: some gore against both a human-shaped foe and a dragon.

As Sephiroth was completing his morning stretches, he heard Denzel's voice from outside the church doors. "Oh, hey, Mister Rude. Are you here to see Tifa?"

Sephiroth lurched to his feet even before the negative grunt reached his ears. _Rude is Reno's partner,_ Cloud had told him. _Turks, again!_

He heaved the door open. Denzel jumped. The baldheaded man, broad shoulders filling out an impeccably tailored suit, did not. "General," he said to Sephiroth's accusing stare, and offered a slim white envelope.

Denzel took it when Sephiroth didn't. "What is it?" he asked, but Rude apparently decided that his job had been done and turned on his heel without another word.

Silence settled over the church courtyard. Denzel finally noticed Sephiroth was trembling. "...oh," he murmured, ducking his head. "Um. Here?"

The Shinra's envelope was a poor peace offering, but Sephiroth took it anyway, forced himself to take a deep breath and sank to one knee. "I apologize," he said to the boy's worried eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," Denzel insisted with a frown. "You looked scared yourself."

_Him,_ display an outward sign of fear? Denzel must have read the dismay in Sephiroth's face. "You get all-" he gestured, groping for words, then snapped his body ramrod-straight and painfully stiff like a recruit getting a thorough dressing-down. "Like that."

"Do I get that way often?" Sephiroth asked.

"Nnnooo..." Denzel squirmed. "When someone mentions Shinra or the Turks you do."

Sephiroth frowned. "I used to be better at hiding my emotions. I need to work on that."

"Why?"

The innocent question brought Sephiroth up short. _Why?_ Well, it was obvious, wasn't it? You didn't go around showing you were afraid or angry all the time - but looking at Denzel's concerned face, Sephiroth wondered whether this was another area in which Hojo's twisted upbringing had rendered him _different_ from other people.

"Where's Marlene?" he asked abruptly.

Denzel shrugged one shoulder. "Phone call with her papa."

_...oh._ He'd never seen one child without the other, but of course Denzel couldn't very well share Marlene's father with her. He wondered if the boy resented her, but Denzel didn't look angry or resentful. Perhaps in the end even Denzel and Marlene needed a break from each other, but the inner workings of friendship was something Sephiroth wasn't equipped to understand.

"...do you want to help me stretch?" he asked, and Denzel agreed affably enough. Sephiroth put the envelope aside for some time when he was emotionally prepared to deal with its contents.

*

A thorough stretching and a brutal workout later, Sephiroth was no more emotionally prepared than he'd been before, and Denzel had started to look worried. Then Tifa had called the boy back for lunch, and Sephiroth was left with his own inner dragons once more. He returned to the church and stared resentfully at the plain white envelope he'd cast aside.

Staring at it wasn't going to make it go away. He could throw it away unopened, but that would leave him without potentially valuable insight into what the Turks planned to do next. He couldn't afford to deceive himself, to take the easy path - yet opening that envelope felt like submitting to Shinra's control again.

Two sheets of paper fell into Sephiroth's hand. The first was a typed letter signed by Rufus's careless scrawl of a signature - this Sephiroth set aside. The second was a bank statement. Sephiroth caught his breath as he scanned down the lines. All the money he'd saved up before Nibelheim was there, including interest in the intervening decade, and at the top a single deposit of five hundred _thousand_ gil. Under the Description column it read-

"That _twit,"_ Sephiroth hissed.

-it read _facilitating the installation of President Rufus Shinra._

Sephiroth slapped the bank statement down on top of Rufus's letter, which he now had no intention of reading. Anger simmered through him, fast and bright, and Sephiroth squeezed his eyes shut and dug his knuckles into his thighs in an effort to restrain himself. _Calm down. Do not get angry. Do_ not _get angry. You cannot get angry, S, it's too dangerous._

_Anger allowed Mother to control you._

Slowly, painfully, he brought himself back under his own command, shackling the anger within himself until the specter of losing control again no longer threatened. Left behind was the hollow emptiness he'd grown accustomed to, and new strength to the promise he'd already made himself - that he would never, ever work for the company that had enslaved him again. He stood, stalked away from the offending papers.

Beyond the nave was the bell tower, in worse shape than the rest of the church thanks to the rusted water tower that had fallen through its wall seemingly decades ago. The bell itself was gone. Sephiroth stood at the foot of the stairs and peered up as far as he could. Sunlight filtered through the broken windows at the top. If he could navigate past the treacherous-looking wooden stairs and balconies to the top, he'd have - _some_ kind of overland view of Edge, probably. Not an unobstructed one, and maybe not the whole of the city, but it was a goal, and having a goal felt like a first gasp of clear air after emerging from Mako. Sephiroth set his boot on the first step. It creaked in protest as he shifted his weight onto it, but it held. _Right. One step at a time._

The first staircase was easy enough - noisy, wobbly in places, but it didn't break under him. The landing was another story, all but destroyed by the water tower's intrusion and by age. Sephiroth had to pick his way along the outside edge until he could reach the water tower, then - taking a breath and a moment to calculate the angles and forces involved - leaped onto the metal surface, slid down and leaped again, throwing himself onto what was left of the landing in front of the second staircase. The wood gave way with a _crack_ , and Sephiroth lunged, grunting as he landed full-length on the staircase proper. It creaked ominously but held together this time, and Sephiroth hauled himself up on the railing and continued on.

Compared to that, the holes in the second landing were easier to cross, and the landing itself was solid when it wasn't just plain gone. At the end of it, Sephiroth found a ladder, newer than the other structures in the bell tower, and followed it up to the rafters. He paused at the top to catch his breath, then straightened - carefully, as the ceiling was a touch low for him - and moved to the roof over the nave, where he could see glowing sunlight.

Here was the massive hole in the ceiling Sephiroth had noted from below. It yawned wide before him, and as the breeze lifted his hair, Sephiroth leaned an arm on the edge of the hole and just gazed out at the vista before him - for once, not a single thought of tactics was in his head.

The outer band of Edge splayed out before him, a riot of colors and textures - the people here had rebuilt out of whatever came to hand, though in the orderly layout of the streets Sephiroth thought he detected Executive Tuesti's influence. Beyond, a band of rough brown; beyond that, smooth, cool green fading into a distant blue sky. It was a view he never could have imagined from Midgar, even from the top of Shinra Tower - the Plate and the smog had always filled the landscape, drowning out everything else.

The old wound of Midgar glowered in his awareness, like a sword at the back of his neck. If he turned around, he could see what was left of it: a twisted ruin of metal rising over the landscape. He resolutely kept his back turned to it, and leaned out into the wind.

The wind caught at his hair, tossing it about. The breeze was cool and gentle and smelled of sandstone and metal and _humans,_ the familiar tang of life. The sun was intensely warm on his face. Sephiroth caught his breath, blinking the sting of wind-tears out of his eyes. 

If not all of the tears were from the wind, who was going to know?

Sephiroth turned to go back inside and saw, of all things, a ladder set against the outside wall he hadn't noticed - _my situational awareness is slipping!_ \- with a blond man ascending it. "So that's how you keep appearing in the rafters," he said when Cloud reached him.

Cloud shrugged. "Guess my secret's out. Got a couple of bounty missions from Reeve if you're interested."

"...oh. Yes - of course." Sephiroth shook his head sharply.

Cloud paused. "...nobody's making you do this," he said slowly.

"No, I know." Sephiroth blew out a breath. "I just - need to not be here. In Edge, for a while."

He saw Cloud's eyes narrow, and knew the other man wondered if the Demon General was losing his grip again. The worst part was, as the letter from Rufus Shinra flashed unbidden through his mind again, he couldn't swear that was no longer a possibility.

*

_"It seems I am to become a hunter," Sephiroth said to the wolf half in his lap._

_Zack's tail whisked, but halfheartedly. Violet eyes peered up at him, as if asking if that were a good thing._

_"It's... a step forward," Sephiroth answered. "In which direction, I couldn't say." The wolf huffed and nosed at his gloved hands. Even in his dreams he always wore gloves. "I need a mission in order to function. That's how I was created. I can't live as humans do - existing for their own reasons."_

_Zack growled at him then, an unhappy disagreement. Sephiroth wondered if Zack objected to Sephiroth's characterization of humans, or his refusal to categorize himself as one, but in this form his old friend's ability to communicate was limited. Sephiroth didn't know exactly how the spirit of his dead friend entered his dreams at all, but he suspected that if he wanted to hear more than barks, growls and whines out of Zack he would need to have direct contact with the Lifestream - with Mako. Perhaps even full immersion._

_Sephiroth had no intention of testing that theory, as much as he missed Zack. The Lifestream had claimed him before, and tried to rip him into shreds. It would have him again when he died._

_"You'll be with me when I hunt, won't you?" he asked suddenly, that thought making him feel very cold and small. Zack surged up to nuzzle him, a mute promise that he would._

*

Cloud had business in Fort Condor, so he could accompany Sephiroth there, but he made it clear he wouldn't be joining him on the hunt itself. For the first time since he'd been found by the enigmatic Vincent Valentine, Sephiroth would be let off the leash.

_...that is unkind,_ he scolded himself as he got out of Cloud's sidecar at the Kalm chocobo ranch. Yet he couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation that rose in him at the thought of being allowed to roam without his former victim/destroyer hovering over his shoulder.

At least Gleipnir was happy to see him.

"I hadn't forgotten about you," Sephiroth told the big green as Gleipnir warbled around his mouthful of Sephiroth's bangs. "Yes, good bird. Settle down now." Gleipnir did not settle down, but he let Sephiroth have his hair back and - with the skilled application of crest-scratches - was convinced to hold still long enough for Chole to bring out his tack and Sephiroth to saddle him up with the girl's help.

"Thank you," he told her quietly over Gleipnir's wing.

Chole's head dipped briefly. "He's a sweet bird." She never looked up from the straps she was easing into place, checking each one to make sure they wouldn't chafe, expertly moving with Gleipnir as he shifted from one restless clawed foot to the other. "We've been keeping him on a high-Mimett diet. He should have plenty of energy."

"I'll report back on his performance, and we can make any needed adjustments to his diet," Sephiroth promised, and that earned him the first direct smile from the young woman. She left them with a last gentle pat to Gleipnir's beak, and Sephiroth gathered up his reins. "Let's get going," he murmured, and Gleipnir warbled agreeably.

Cloud was waiting for him by his motorcycle, parked on the dirt track leading out of the ranch. Sephiroth paused, Gleipnir bristling faintly at his shoulder as his tenseness was communicated through the set of his shoulders. Cloud had his goggles on, his eyes hidden from view, and he was hunched over the bike like a protective gargoyle.

"I should... get going," Sephiroth offered hesitantly. Was Cloud waiting for a salute?

The blond head shook sharply. "I just - I'm not," he blurted, and Sephiroth found himself drifting forward. "It's not easy. Handing you one of my weapons."

_...oh._ "I can do without," Sephiroth said, turning, but Cloud was shaking his head again, quick and angry.

"No. I mean, yeah, you probably _can_ kill a dragon with your bare hands, can't you? But - no." Cloud sucked in a breath. "I'm not sending you out there unarmed."

He opened the motorcycle's side panel. With a hiss of hydraulics, a small forest of heavy-sword handles rose into view, offering themselves to be used. Cloud's hands wrapped around one and hauled it free and for a moment its edge caught the sunlight-

_-bright, painful flash-_

"Sephiroth?" Cloud called sharply.

Sephiroth blinked the headache and tears away. "Where did you come by a Hardedge?" he forced out. "Or should I not ask?"

"Where do you think I got it?" Cloud walked around the motorcycle and offered it to him one-handed. "This is one I won't be too broken-up to lose, but it's in good condition."

Sephiroth stared at the blade - Shinra-issue, heavy as lead, and without a hint of grace or artistry. About as far away from Masamune as it was possible to get and still be considered a sword. Perhaps that was part of why Cloud chose it. He made himself reach out and wrap a hand around the hilt, taking the weight easily when Cloud let go.

He nearly dropped it when magic whispered against his skin: the minty tracery of a Cure and the even hum of a Barrier. Neither was anywhere near mastered, but - "You're letting me borrow your Materia too?" he blurted, lowering the massive sword.

Cloud had his shoulder turned to him; he shrugged carelessly. "I wouldn't hunt one of those things down without any Materia on me." Sephiroth only stared, and Cloud huffed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Quit looking at me like that. I haven't forgiven you but I'm not an asshole."

"I - no." Sephiroth shook his head. "I'm sorry. Thank you."

Cloud completely failed to acknowledge Sephiroth's words, which Sephiroth was fairly sure counted as acceptance. Gleipnir warbled low in his throat as Cloud shut his motorcycle's side panel and locked the big beast up. Nearby, Tyr loitered in his tack, crest flicking in interest when Cloud came toward him.

"We'd best get going too," Sephiroth murmured as Cloud clicked to his gold.

"Wark," Gleipnir agreed.

*

The Fort Condor reactor tower still stood tall over an expanse of wilderness, just as it had since Sephiroth could remember, but as he neared he could see one major difference: the great bird that had claimed the reactor as its perch was gone, and in its place a shelter of some kind had been built. A shrine? An extension?

Gleipnir stretched out his neck and peeped once, loudly - and was answered, a high chicklike cry echoing over the wild, scrubby Condor cliffs. Sephiroth reined Gleipnir in, staring as hard as he could at the tower. Had that cry come from there? Just what were the people of Fort Condor sheltering?

A shadow passed overhead, and in its wake silence fell like a heavy drape. Sephiroth stiffened. "Gleipnir," he whispered, dismounting. "Stay." Gleipnir shifted on his claws, crest lifting in the uncertain beginning of a threat display - he didn't like his rider's behavior, or this 'being left behind - _again_ ' business, clearly, but there was no question of riding him into battle. Gleipnir was a riding bird, not a trained warbird. Sephiroth put a hand to his beak, asserting his dominance. "Stay," he said again, and Gleipnir reluctantly slicked his crest back down. "I'll be back soon."

Gleipnir shifted again as Sephiroth turned away, but he stayed. _Good bird._

Cloud's Hardedge was heavy against Sephiroth's back, throwing his balance off, making his movements more cautious. He kept his attention skyward, his mind ready to cast, even as he searched for evidence of his quarry. The reports Cloud had passed to him didn't give him much of a clue as to where to start looking, but a monster of the size Sephiroth was expecting couldn't help but leave signs. Claw marks - the remains of prey - a nest. A cliff-face nest, Sephiroth was sure. If he could find it, the rest would be simple. He kept moving.

He had hunted often, in Shinra's service. But he had never hunted alone like this - there had always been a troop squad assigned with him, or another SOLDIER. _Zack - I wish I could see you._

Far away, Gleipnir called out a warning. A shadow drifted lazily overhead - circled - and came around again, and Sephiroth's breath caught. He lifted the Hardedge up and over his head.

The dragon rider's breath spilled over the thick metal, heating it, nearly blinding Sephiroth with the sting of hot prismatic plasma. _Finally!_ he exulted, tracking the dragon as it swooped up and away. It wheeled, its rider using the scythe it held as a rudder to keep it on course, and came at him again. This time Sephiroth had a little more time to prepare. He wrapped himself in a protective layer of magic and set his feet against the earth, raising the Hardedge against the next attack. He'd say this for the giant brick of a sword: it worked equally well as a shield.

Metal rang against metal, the rider's scythe striking Sephiroth's weapon. Sephiroth turned as the dragon circled, testing his defenses again and again. Back one step, two... Sephiroth felt the cliff face at his back and drew in a breath as the scythe descended.

Hardedge sang a low, hoarse note as it swept the monster's weapon, pinning it point-down against the cliff, and Sephiroth seized hold of the shaft. The rider bucked against the sudden weight, struggling to keep its seat, but it wouldn't - couldn't - let go of its weapon. Sephiroth gritted his teeth and hauled, and the dragon rider's costume tore free of the hooks keeping it pinned to its mount's tack. The dragon escaped skyward; the rider fell, wrenching its scythe out of Hardedge's control on the way.

Riders could fight just as well on the ground as in the air, though they would never let their feet touch ground if they could help it. This one was clearly unhappy to find itself grounded: it moved as though disgusted by the dust, almost mincing as it shifted its grip on the long shaft of its scythe for ground fighting. The point swung before it, low to the ground, difficult to counter. Seeing the stance it took, Sephiroth could almost believe the monster was human.

The rider lunged. Sephiroth swung Hardedge before him, and metal rang against metal with such force that Sephiroth's very bones shook.

The hunt had become a duel. Sephiroth never would have let that much control of the encounter slip away before Jenova had sunk her teeth into him, but there was no space to berate himself. He counterattacked, surging forward into the rider's next swing, getting inside his enemy's guard. Hardedge rang with the impact of the rider's frantic attack, then it was swinging around to answer with an attack of its own, all of Sephiroth's power behind the swing. It hit the rider's head with a horrifying crack of metal and bone.

Sephiroth was off balance. He stumbled, planting Hardedge into the ground to keep from falling, as the rider went slack. The scythe slipped from its hand as it fell, slow and gentle. As it hit the ground, its broken helmet fell away in pieces.

Sephiroth's limbs, already shaking, turned to water - the face under the mask was misshapen with mutation and with the damage Hardedge had dealt it, but it was unmistakably his own.

_Jenova,_ screamed his frantic, unmanageable thoughts. And, _Cloud will be angry._ And _monster, I am a monster, no different from this thing I just killed-_

Something slammed into his back, driving Hardedge into his gut and slashing through leather and skin alike. Blasted hells, he'd forgotten about the damn _dragon._

Sephiroth sprawled and rolled, fighting to breathe. The dragon was wheeling around for another pass, murder in its eyes and the sharp curve of its armored beak. No time for a restorative spell - Sephiroth gritted his teeth and raised Hardedge before him, though his back screamed at him for it, and the dragon's claws wrapped around the metal instead of him. He'd expected the dragon to try to savage him on the ground, but instead the claws gripped tight and jerked Hardedge skyward, and Sephiroth with it.

There were many reasons Sephiroth could have given to not let go of that sword in that moment. Hardedge wasn't his to lose, for one. He didn't think of any of them then - just hung on with all his might.

The dragon didn't seem to notice at first. Leaving its rider behind, it climbed into the cold air, wings pulling powerfully against gravity. Sephiroth had one hand on the sword's hilt and one on the top of the blade, making him dangle awkwardly - and painfully - off the length of the sword. The wind whistled in his ears, whipped his braid about. He would have given an arm for any kind of attack Materia right then - with both hands occupied hanging on for dear life, he was helpless to strike at his enemy.

A familiar _wark_ pierced the veil of panic. "Stay, Gleipnir!" Sephiroth shouted.

He had to survive this. He couldn't die in front of Gleipnir.

He let his hand slip off the hilt. A breathless moment when he was hanging on with only one hand, when any sudden change in direction could have dislodged him and sent him to his death, and then he had re-established his grip near the top of the blade and swung his legs up. His legs locked together around the base of the blade, and Sephiroth let out a breath of relief. Now he was getting somewhere. He shimmied up, blinking in the harsh cold wind, until he could reach out and seize the dragon's forelimb.

The dragon shrieked and banked, and Sephiroth almost laughed. _Waited too long to drop me, did you?_ Hardedge swung away as the dragon let go of it to claw at Sephiroth, and Sephiroth used its weight clutched between his legs to further drag the beast off its course. Claws scraped over his head and shoulders, but the barrier magic Cloud had given him ensured the wounds were mere inconveniences, shallow ragged cuts in his skin. Sephiroth welcomed the pain, almost grinning with it - it sang through him with such sweet familiarity. He almost felt _human_.

Another two handholds and Sephiroth had ahold of the dragon's tack, out of reach of its flailing claws. Now he could retrieve Hardedge from between his knees and hold it properly - and wield it properly. The dragon finally turned its head to aim at him with its beaked, toothy mouth, though that took away the dragon's flight control and they started to circle around.

"Now," he harshed. "Let's end this."

The dragon shrilled. Sephiroth struck.

Brown stone and green scrub flashed by beneath them as Sephiroth crushed the dragon's striking head with repeated blows. The dragon's wings stiffened and its eyes rolled back. Blood streamed from its mouth, slashing across Sephiroth's face and hair scalding-hot. The dragon had ceased circling, its tail and wings straight and stiff: it was semiconscious, probably dying. Now he had a chance to force it down.

The ground below was still too far away. But there was still a chance... Sephiroth leaned away from the dragon's body, throwing his full weight and that of Hardedge into it. The dragon started to turn, the sky tilting dizzily until Fort Condor came into view. _There._ Sephiroth threw himself back against the dragon's side, wincing when his wounds protested. Now all he had to do was ride the dying dragon onto the top of the reactor. The wind howled past him, his throat burned, his eyes stung...

They were going to overshoot. Or worse, plow into that shed on top of the reactor. Sephiroth swung himself up as Fort Condor loomed closer, lifted Hardedge with an arm that screamed from his wounds and brought it down hard on the dragon's back.

The dragon convulsed soundlessly, its head snapping back. For a moment Sephiroth thought it would take flight again - but then they were dropping like a stone, the sky listing drunkenly in Sephiroth's vision. The reactor leaned into his sights, and Sephiroth, leaving nothing to chance, leaped for the roof.

Man and dragon landed together, a hopeless thudding tangle of flesh and bone and leather and metal, Hardedge more of a hindrance than a help until Sephiroth lost his grip on it at last. It went skidding across metal and stone and he prayed it wouldn't fall off the reactor entirely. That same metal and stone buffeted him as he tumbled to a stop.

For a moment he lay still, making sure he could still breathe. Everything hurt, but nothing said 'broken bone' to him, only bruises and cuts. The sky stopped spinning and came to rest overhead, endless blue taking on the dusky tone of evening. He was alive, and the hunt was over.

From across the platform, a door opened. Someone gasped, and the door slammed shut again.

_I wonder what frightened them - the dragon or me._

The dragon's body lay on its side, still and crumpled, diminished in death. Sephiroth struggled to his feet -   
he was going to be counting his bruises come morning! - and skirted around it carefully, looking for a telltale glint of metal. _Nothing._ Catching his breath, Sephiroth moved closer to the edge and peered over at the ground far below.

His vision wasn't as sharp at far distances as he remembered it being - though his memory was still as unreliable as his self-control - but he thought he saw a glint of hard metal near the base of the butte. He hissed a curse and withdrew. _I'm sorry, Cloud._

He straightened, staggered against a wave of dizziness - that Cure would have been welcome right then, but he'd survive without it - and forced himself away from the edge. The dragon's corpse provided a shelter he could crouch behind, try to force his head back together. It was a post-battle crash, of the sort he hadn't experienced since he was a boy in Wutai. He was injured, he needed to report in, and all he could think of was _I lost Cloud's sword._

He should find a way into the fort, ask to borrow a phone, but at that moment he'd have sooner faced down a dozen dragon riders than talk to a stranger. Sephiroth drew his knees up, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing. The crash would pass. The crash would pass.

*

Distress had given way to pained exhaustion by the time the sun started to sink, painting the sky pink and violet and gold. Sephiroth was in knots, physically and emotionally, when the door to the fort opened again.

A pause, during which Sephiroth held his breath tight. "...Sephiroth?"

_Cloud._

"I'm here," Sephiroth called, and Cloud came around the dragon's corpse to survey him, squinting against the light. "I'm sorry," Sephiroth managed, "your sword went over the edge. I think I know where it is."

Cloud's eyes flickered over him, and Sephiroth was suddenly, painfully aware of what a mess he must look. He looked away, hiding his eyes from Cloud's. "What happened?" the younger man demanded.

Sephiroth's shoulders hunched. "I lost focus."

Cloud let out an irritated huff of breath, his boots scraping on the ground, and Sephiroth winced, all his mistakes scrolling through his head like a debrief in the aftermath of a bad mission. "Is the rider dead?" Cloud asked, and Sephiroth's throat slammed shut against a surge of bile as the rider's misshapen, _familiar_ face flashed through his mind.

"Yes," he managed. "I'm not sure I can take you to where the corpse is, but it's dead."

"It's okay, I believe you. Come on, there's food downstairs."

_Food._ All right, Sephiroth thought he could manage facing strangers for food. He struggled to his feet, every movement a fresh agony until Cloud uncrossed his arms and extended his hands Sephiroth's way. Magic washed over him, the taste of mint left in its wake, and Sephiroth's wounds knit themselves up again. "Thank you," he said, and Cloud shuffled a moment before turning away and heading back toward the door. Sephiroth could do nothing but follow.

As they passed the makeshift shelter, Sephiroth heard something shuffle within, and a low, chicklike warble.


	7. Chapter 6: Gleipnir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth continues to try to find his place in the world.
> 
> ..."Try" being the key word.

Before retrieving Hardedge and leaving Fort Condor, Sephiroth made two accidental discoveries: first, that fewer people than he expected recognized him on sight and fewer still seemed to have any inkling that he was the Crisis of five years ago; second, that Gleipnir loved roasted seaweed snacks.

"We get pallets of them from Junon," the fort's shopkeeper said cheerily, thrusting a box into a bewildered Sephiroth's hands. "Take as much as you want, on the house - least we can do after you took care of that dragon for us."

"I am receiving payment from WRO for the monster," Sephiroth protested faintly.

"Then think of it as your chocobo's payment. Such a sweet bird," the shopkeeper beamed.

Indeed, Gleipnir was making friends among the Condor folk so quickly it made Sephiroth marvel. Tyr was the bird they all came to the stables to see, with his beautiful golden plumage, but he had the charisma of a Levrikon compared to Gleipnir's friendly demeanor and charm. In short order he had made fast friends of the Condor children, and was showered with their snacks in reward, which was how he - and Sephiroth by extension - discovered his new favorite treat.

"He looks so happy," Sephiroth murmured when Cloud came over with his own saddlebags empty of the deliveries he'd come to the area to make. "Maybe I should let him stay here."

Cloud gave him an arch look. "Tyr's not carrying both of us."

He had a fair point. Sephiroth bowed to practicality and saddled Gleipnir up - and, remembering how Marlene and Denzel had taught him to behave around children, praised the flower crown one of the children had placed on the big fluffball bird's head. The children peering over the stable door beamed and giggled; one of them bounced up and down. "I made that!" she burst out, as though she couldn't contain the words for one more second.

"It's lovely," Sephiroth answered, offering her a half-bow as Gleipnir warked proudly. The child bounced again, hands clapped over her face with a squeal of pleasure and pride. Sephiroth smiled and went back to buckling on Gleipnir's tack.

The children were called away from the stable door to let Sephiroth and Cloud lead their chocobos out, but one of them lingered - older than the little girl who'd been responsible for Gleipnir's flower crown, probably around Marlene and Denzel's age. He watched both men and chocobos solemnly, then picked his moment to approach when Cloud pulled out his PHS to let Tifa know they were headed back.

"...sir?" he said, and Sephiroth blinked as he realized the boy was addressing him.

"Yes?" Against his better judgement, he took his attention off Gleipnir - the bird was eyeing his saddlebag with the roasted seaweed in it with far too much interest - to look fully at the dark-haired boy. Who was - reaching out for his hand.

Surprised, Sephiroth went slack, and allowed the boy to fold something into his gloved hand. "This is for you, for killing the dragon," the boy explained. "It's from the phoenix chick."

"The - what?"

Sephiroth opened his hand to peer at his gift, and discovered that the boy had given him a plume of down - its structure indicated it could only have come from a chick, but the plume was bigger than any chocobo chick down he'd ever seen. He could just about use it as a pen. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "but - the phoenix chick?"

The boy pointed up. "Its nest is on top of the reactor. Us Condorites have been protecting it since before it was born. It gives us feathers sometimes if we make it happy, and I think you should have one. They're very soft," he added hopefully, and showed the first hint of a smile.

Sephiroth's brows drew together. _On top of the reactor - that shelter. The cry I heard from within..._

He'd heard - _things_ about a bird who nested atop the Condor reactor, massive and wise beyond imagining, but never gave them any credence, mostly because the official position of Shinra was that such things did not exist. Yet here was the proof in his hand. The Condorites had successfully protected, hatched, and were now _raising_ a very big, very special chick indeed.

The boy was still watching him, and Sephiroth hesitated. He couldn't take off his gloves in the boy's presence, but... He lifted his hand, stroked the down over his cheek. "Soft," he confirmed, and the boy smiled brightly. "Thank you," he added. "I've never received a gift like this before."

The boy all but rose up on his toes with delight. "My name's Luneth," he offered.

"S- ...Seph."

Luneth was summoned away by his mother; warmed and off-balance at once, Sephiroth turned back to Gleipnir. "Stop that," he ordered, pulling Gleipnir's head away from the saddlebag full of roasted seaweed. "Let's get going, or Cloud and Tyr will leave us both behind."

*

Gleipnir was a dream mount in many ways, but he hadn't the discipline of the warbirds Sephiroth was used to. All the way through the Condor cliffs he was trying to turn to follow the smell of roasted seaweed snacks, making them fall well behind Cloud and Tyr. The bird finally lost his head at the foot of the Mythril Mountains, where Cloud paused them to rest. Sephiroth dropped the reins, but before he could dismount Gleipnir turned a full circle with his beak just out of reach of the maddeningly-delicious-smelling saddlebag.

"Whoa!" Sephiroth barked. "Gleipnir, stop. Down!"

"Wark!"

Another circle - Sephiroth's commands were only serving to make the chocobo circle faster, as though he could outrun his rider's commands, or indeed his own hind end, keeping the treats just out of reach. Round and round he went, the world's most daft fairground ride, and Sephiroth groped dizzily for the reins and swore like a SOLDIER.

"Gleipnir, dammit!"

_"Waaaaark!"_

Finally, _finally,_ he got ahold of the reins and pulled Gleipnir to a reluctant halt. As the world slowly stopped spinning, Sephiroth became aware of a sound he'd never heard before: Cloud's helpless, hysterical laughter.

Cloud was leaning against Tyr's saddle, the bird looking distinctly perturbed at his rider's behavior as Cloud spluttered and snorted into the leather. "That's - wow," he gurgled. "Need a hand, General sir?"

"If you don't mind, Private," Sephiroth answered with brittle patience. Cloud snickered again and came forward, leaving his (well-mannered and well-trained) bird to fend for itself while he held Gleipnir's reins long enough for Sephiroth to dismount. "I am going to bury those snacks in the swamp if you can't control yourself," Sephiroth scolded Gleipnir, which set Cloud off again.

"Maybe you should let Tyr carry them," he offered through a watery snicker.

"And have Gleipnir's beak in his tailfeathers the whole way back? I can't think he'd endure that for long."

Sephiroth took Gleipnir's reins back. The bird had his head tucked down and crest slicked back, looking very sheepish indeed. Sephiroth sighed. "All right. You want a treat; I want a training session."

Gleipnir perked right up when Sephiroth unhooked the delicious-smelling saddlebag and reached inside. "Stay," Sephiroth ordered firmly when Gleipnir reached out, beak opening, to the small sheaf of roasted seaweed he withdrew in his fist. "Stay, Gleipnir. Back up."

It took a combination of commands and an expertly applied shoulder, but Gleipnir took a few steps back. "Good," Sephiroth confirmed in a much more soothing voice. "Good bird." He offered a piece of seaweed. Gleipnir warked happily and ate it up.

Now that he had the measure of this game, Gleipnir was the picture of attentiveness, quivering eagerly at the slightest motion of Sephiroth's. Well aware that Cloud's eyes were on him, Sephiroth went over some of the basic commands a warbird should know, and filled in the gaps in Gleipnir's knowledge when he found them. 'Walk', 'Stop' and 'Stay' were easy enough, 'Back up' went swimmingly once Gleipnir got the idea, but 'Foot' and 'Target' were the hard ones. Especially 'Foot.'

"Come on," Sephiroth encouraged, crouching and holding his hand out over a mystified Gleipnir's toes. It was tempting to try to pick up or even touch Gleipnir's foot, but Sephiroth knew from experience that doing so was counterproductive. He'd tried that with the first chocobo he'd trained, and that bird had ended up thinking 'Foot' meant 'someone will be touching your foot now.' Getting the 'yes, that is a Foot, well done' look from a chocobo had been a singularly humbling experience. He'd had to choose another verbal command to re-train her; one of his men had suggested 'Shake hands' with a smile that was half smirk-

_-aching flash-_

Sephiroth shut his eyes tightly for a moment, banishing the man's face from his memory before the headache could get any worse. That man had been in the nascent SOLDIER program; he was dead now, probably.

"Shake," he muttered, without thinking, and Gleipnir shifted his weight and stuck his foot out immediately. Sephiroth nearly fell down in shock.

"Good bird," he said over Cloud's resurgent burst of laughter. Gleipnir stuck his beak down expectantly; Sephiroth sighed and handed over the seaweed. "I think that's enough for now. You've done very well, Gleipnir." Gleipnir puffed up at the praise and Sephiroth allowed a smile. "And hopefully that's calmed you down some."

"They teach you how to train chocobos at Shinra too?" Cloud asked as Sephiroth re-packed his saddlebag.

"It wasn't part of my official training," Sephiroth answered, "but when I was sent to Wutai it became necessary that I learn how to work with them. So I learned." Gleipnir trembled faintly as the saddlebag with the seaweed snacks were buckled back onto his tack, but didn't turn to try to get any, and Sephiroth patted his neck feathers in reward.

"And now you're a chocobo whisperer on top of everything else."

"Hardly," Sephiroth protested, though he might have been mistaking the bitter tone he thought he heard in Cloud's voice. "I only know the basics. ...though I'll gladly take 'chocobo whisperer' over 'Crisis.'"

"That's not - what I meant." Cloud grimaced. "Just, you know, before - you were this perfect soldier. Unbeatable in battle, untouchable with a sword. There was nothing you couldn't do."

Sephiroth gave him a small, tight smile. "That was the mythos."

"Are you trying to tell me it isn't true?"

Sephiroth couldn't parse Cloud's expression or his tone - certainly challenging, but was he truly angry? Or only pushing him for reasons of his own? "It - suited Shinra's purpose that I be seen as invincible," he answered slowly. "And certainly I tried to live up to it. It's only now - living among humans, you and Tifa and the children - I begin to see how constrained I was. How - lacking."

"Lacking?" Cloud prodded.

"My ignorance in social matters is deplorable." Sephiroth resisted the urge to pace, restlessly fiddling with the end of his braid instead. "I have no knowledge of history other than military history, no knowledge of - of children or cooking or _anything_ but how to kill. Things that Shinra found unnecessary, but if I'd known them, I-"

_...what? Never would have gone to Jenova? Never would have tried to destroy the world?_

"...I wouldn't be so useless as a human," Sephiroth muttered, clutching his braid like a child.

Gleipnir leaned against Sephiroth, setting his beak to his rider's hair. Sephiroth allowed it as Cloud shifted thoughtfully, leaning against Tyr's saddle. "So learn," he said at last, and Sephiroth's head came up in shock, so quickly that he bumped Gleipnir's beak. Gleipnir warked a protest.

"Learn?" Sephiroth repeated dumbly.

Cloud shrugged. "You learned chocobos because you needed to, right? So you can learn humans too."

Sephiroth fell silent. Cloud set his boot to Tyr's stirrup and mounted up, making soothing noises as Tyr shifted his weight. At his expectant look, Sephiroth mounted up too, and they were on their way again.

 _He's right,_ Sephiroth realized, and his shoulders bent in guilt. _I could have learned at any time. It's not as though I lacked for opportunity. Zack... he would have gladly taught me._

 _Wasted chances. Wasted years._ He bent further, until Gleipnir's feathers brushed his face. _I'm so stupid._

Gleipnir trotted on behind Tyr, as content to follow as any chocobo ever was, and Sephiroth let the reins slip out of his fingers. Gleipnir would have to navigate for both of them, as Sephiroth could no longer keep his eyes or his mind on the road.

*

Chole greeted the news that Gleipnir had a new favorite snack with quiet delight, and listened intently to Sephiroth's training recommendations. "I'll make sure to work with him," she promised. "I don't know if I can do it every day, but at least three times a week?"

"That would be more than sufficient," Sephiroth assured her, and handed over the box of seaweed snacks. Chole smiled and wandered off, box tucked under one arm, Gleipnir's lead in the other hand.

Sephiroth retreated to the ranch's outer gate, where Cloud had pushed his motorcycle with the engine off so as not to disturb the birds. He motioned when he spotted Sephiroth, and Sephiroth quickened his step obediently.

"Tifa texted back," Cloud reported as Sephiroth neared. "She says no Turks since we left."

"Good." Sephiroth climbed into the sidecar, folding his long legs up neatly. "I'm sure they haven't given up entirely, but at least Tifa and the children got some peace for a while."

"Mm." Cloud slung his leg over the motorcycle, towering over Sephiroth as he settled in. The bike rumbled to life, wrapping them in a shield of sound that cut them off from the rest of the world and from each other - they'd have to shout to be heard, and there was nothing, at this point, that either one wanted to shout at the other. Sephiroth pulled his goggles over his eyes and nodded, and Cloud pulled out onto the road.

The ranch was quickly lost to green, and on the horizon, the dull brown of the Midgar plain spread out to welcome them.

*

Sephiroth's first payment for the monster hunt came the day after he returned, passed to Cloud by post. "He knows I'm alive?" Sephiroth asked, looking at the neat print of Reeve's handwriting on the envelope.

"He knows," Cloud answered, but didn't elaborate as to how. Sephiroth tore the envelope with a swift, ruthless movement, remembering the contents of the last envelope from a Shinra executive. This one, mercifully, contained nothing but a promissory note.

"Cloud," Sephiroth said, reasonably calm. "That's three zeroes."

"Hmm?" Cloud glanced over his arm. "Oh. Yeah, that's about average." He paused, then his nose crinkled in chagrin. "Oh, damn, we're gonna have to figure out a way to get you a bank account."

"But... three zeroes."

"You want me to tell Reeve to tone it down?" Cloud asked, too flat to be anything but amused.

"No." Sephiroth slipped the note back into the envelope. "I just - that's - monster hunting has gotten much more profitable in the last ten years."

"Reeve thinks if enough people are encouraged to hunt, the monster population can be cut down to the point that he can start working on improving inter-city infrastructure." Cloud shrugged. "I don't see that happening, to be honest, but it's his money."

"I see." Monster hunting had been the provenance of SOLDIER before. With SOLDIER gone, Reeve was clearly counting on private enterprise to pick up the slack. _Not an ideal solution. But a workable one._

 _...it's no good, I'm still hung up on the three zeroes._ Sephiroth folded the paper back up so he'd stop stealing glances at it and picked up the basket of food that had been Cloud's charge to deliver. "Well, thank you," he managed to remember to say. Cloud shrugged uncomfortably and sauntered out, and as the church door swung shut behind him Sephiroth sighed and sank down onto the nearest pew, the one that rocked a little when taking his weight. The basket drifted back down to the ground, its contents not even slightly tempting.

He still hadn't told Cloud about the rider he'd killed - the one whose face was like a misshapen mirror of Sephiroth's own. He simply didn't have the courage.

 _Worst case scenario is he fears the Crisis returning and cuts me down on the spot,_ went a dry, rote voice in his head, the one that had complied casualty reports in Wutai.

He tried to counter it. _Best case scenario is... is..._ It was a weak counter. _That things go on as they have, I suppose._

He made himself pick up the basket again. Over time his camp in Aeris's church had become quite livable; he had a small kettle for making coffee, a battered sofa and a small table, and every horizontal surface was littered with lopsided origami made by nine-year-olds with less motor control than enthusiasm. The notebook Cloud had brought him had long since run out of pages and been replaced by another three. He still had the pink feathered pen. It made the children laugh.

Lunch, thank the mercy of the Lifestream and Tifa, was a stack of sandwiches and a tub of popcorn, not the five-alarm Canyon chili she kept threatening him with. Sephiroth demolished them steadily, hunched over the basket, his mind empty of everything but the next mouthful. He'd say this for Tifa: her food was much better than the Shinra cafeteria had ever been capable of.

_She probably wouldn't appreciate the comparison._

Food settled his nerves and his mind as effectively as it settled his stomach. Sephiroth lay back and stared up at the broken ceiling, allowing himself to picture a possible future for himself: as a professional monster hunter.

It made a certain kind of sense. Monsters were the byproducts of Jenova's original infestation on Gaia, weren't they? And Sephiroth, with his history with Jenova as well as his only talent being killing, was ideally suited for the job of hunting them. It would be a simple and effective penance, paying the Planet back in sweat and blood and the energy of his body.

The fact that it would largely keep him out of towns and away from people wasn't lost on him either. Sephiroth closed his eyes, letting a slow breath go as he accepted his fate.

*

"I take it you missed me."

Marlene and Denzel had the great General pinned, straddling one leg each: Marlene wiggled to emphasize the point. "You were gone aaaaages," she accused. "And you didn't even come say hi yesterday!"

"You were in school when Cloud and I returned," Sephiroth protested. The children weren't heavy at all, but the pressure of their stares was starting to ache. Sephiroth shifted, trying to sit up on the sofa to ease some of the burden and encourage the children to sit on the sofa instead of his legs, but they just rode along with his motion instead.

"You could've come by later," Denzel said, picking up Marlene's thread.

"I'm not sure Tifa would be pleased," Sephiroth protested. "When Cloud escorts me to the church I'm meant to stay here."

Both young faces pulled down in upset frowns. Seph shifted in discomfort, and kept his hands by his sides as both children scooted closer to drape themselves over his chest. "It's not fair," Denzel muttered.

"It is as it is," Sephiroth sighed as Denzel's hair tickled his chin. "I've done terrible things. These restrictions are what allow Cloud and Tifa to trust me as far as they do."

"You could stay for dinner!" Marlene protested.

The idea of _sharing a meal_ with Cloud and Tifa threatened to make his eyes cross. Sephiroth blinked hard to banish the impulse. "I... don't think that would work," he mumbled.

"Then we could have dinner at the church," Denzel offered.

"Ooh, yeah, a picnic!"

Marlene beamed up at him, clearly seeking his approval for this course of action. Sephiroth thought about bluffing, but generally the children saw right through him when he did that. He bowed to the inevitable.

"...what's a picnic?"

Marlene's expression turned dismayed. Denzel's was positively stricken. "You've never had a _picnic?"_ Marlene demanded as Denzel's arm snaked around his waist and held on tightly. "...We're gonna have one. Today."

"It's too late today," Denzel mumbled. "We have to go to school soon."

"Then tomorrow." Marlene nodded determinedly. "And we'll have sandwiches. And cake. Tifa and Cloud can come too."

"I'm still lost," Sephiroth hedged. "What do I need to do?"

Marlene pulled herself up straight, something in the stubborn set to her chin reminding Sephiroth of Tifa. "Nothing," she informed him. "Just be here in time for dinner. We'll take care of everything."

*

The following evening, as promised, Marlene and Denzel arrived at the church door at dinnertime, carrying a loaded basket between them. Peering in at its contents - sandwiches, jars of pickles, tubs of potato salad and three small slices of cake - Sephiroth rather suspected Tifa of 'taking care of everything', and mentally thanked her for playing along.

Picnics, apparently, were meals eaten while sitting on the ground on a tattered blanket, preferably next to Aeris's flowers. Or so Marlene insisted, and Denzel gave him a shrug and dutifully tugged the blanket the few feet over to where the flowers' scent perfumed the air.

"We showed everyone at school how to make origami chocobos," Marlene informed him around bites of pickle, and Sephiroth felt cold prickles race up his spine. _She didn't tell them who taught her, did she?_ "Teacher said most people's first origami is a lot simpler and he was really impressed."

"Was chocobo your first origami?" Denzel asked.

 _Storytime again?_ Sephiroth thought, letting a smile show through. Few of his memories of Wutai were good ones, but the children had a knack for pulling the pleasant memories out of him - and for quickly redirecting when Sephiroth stumbled over the worse parts of his past. "No, it wasn't," he admitted. "The chocobo was the last one I learned. The first was a cup - like a drinking cup," he clarified when the kids gave him identical quizzical looks. "It was very strange to me, making things out of paper, but its practicality appealed to me, and then I kept learning more and more challenging folds."

"Like what?" Marlene challenged.

"Well..." Sephiroth picked through his memories as though they were live grenades. "I made boxes, birds, flowers, a frog that could jump..."

"What about moogles?" Marlene wondered. "My friend Maaya has a moogle purse from Wutai."

Sephiroth tried not to smile, didn't quite succeed. "I don't recall any moogle origami. I'm not sure how you'd fold it."

Denzel reached for more potato salad, more interested in filling his belly than in The Silver General's brief teenage obsession with Wutaian arts and crafts. "Did they teach you how to make a hat?" he asked idly, and shoveled a forkful of potato salad into his mouth.

Sephiroth's brows creased. "A... hat? No, I don't think so."

"That's the one Teacher showed us."

"Do you want to learn?" Marlene asked eagerly.

 _As if I can say no._ "I would love to."

*

The church door swung in just enough to admit a slender figure. "Denzel?" Cloud called softly. "Marlene? Time to get home _pffffft."_

The savior of the world doubled over wheezing helplessly. Sephiroth, proudly crowned with his newspaper origami hat, arched an eyebrow at his giggling dinner guests. "I can't think _what_ he's laughing at. Can you?"

"Noo-ooo," Denzel and Marlene chorused, every bit as dignified as Sephiroth in their own origami hats.


	8. Chapter 7: Corel Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumormongering in Edge makes life difficult for Sephiroth's people, so he accepts another long-distance bounty mission - but there is more danger than Sephiroth is prepared for, and even the equipment borrowed from Cloud may not be enough to keep him safe.

_Sephiroth's creases were precise, sword-sharp,_ perfect, _but somehow they weren't coming together as the models he knew. Monsters flew from his fingers, from recognizable dragons and Malboros to otherworldly horrors, their geometry indecipherable to him._

_"Let us help you." The daimyo who'd captured him sat down at his side, his clothes as neatly creased as the origami models Sephiroth was desperately trying to produce. "Shinra has twisted your mind, young one. Until you are free of them your hands will only produce twisted works."_

_Sephiroth made another crease with a swift, vicious movement. The model fell from his hands: a misshapen angel, an orb set in its guts and a blind totem at its head._

_"Young one," the daimyo repeated. His voice was infinitely compassionate, but his hand when he reached out to halt Sephiroth's frantic folding dripped blood._

Sephiroth groaned and turned his face to the sofa cushion. This nightmare had been mild as nightmares went, but it still didn't leave him feeling rested. Head pounding, eyes feeling like they'd been sandpapered, he stumbled to his feet and lurched for the kettle.

Two mugs of coffee later and he was feeling - vaguely human again. Human enough to wonder whether it was only the children's interest in origami that had sent his subconscious wandering to Wutai, and his brief experience as a teenage prisoner of war. Handling his memories as gingerly as he would broken glass, Sephiroth wandered outside.

And saw Cloud standing before him, the younger man's muscular shoulders tight with rage.

He coiled. His hands were empty, he had no Materia; for a moment he wished even for the blasted Hardedge, before he saw that Cloud wasn't glaring at him but through him. "Look at the door," Cloud ordered shortly, and Sephiroth obeyed.

In the night, someone had vandalized Aeris's church, painting on it a crude representation of the weapon that had taken her life.

Sephiroth's throat went dry. "Turks?" he rasped.

"Doesn't seem like their style," Cloud admitted, coming forward. Sephiroth moved aside to give him room, and also to try to convince his overactive threat-assessment that Cloud meant him no harm. "Did you hear anything?"

Sephiroth's heart, halfway to calmness, started thumping against his sternum again. "No," he admitted, and met Cloud's wide-eyed look with one of his own. "Even asleep, I should have-" Sephiroth started before his mind caught up with him again.

_Jenova is no longer within me. My pupils are a normal shape. What if I have lost more than I knew?_

Cloud's mind was already racing ahead, dismissing the question of Sephiroth's senses to focus on more practical matters. "Okay. Tifa can probably ask around, someone has to know something. I don't wanna involve the police, but - dammit, people are gonna see this, I'll have to make a report." Both hands dug through his hair, leaving it even more in disarray. "Dammit," Cloud repeated.

Sephiroth found his shoulders creeping up around ear level, and forced them back down again - it was his presence that was making things so complicated for Cloud, but until he was in a position to live elsewhere, he had to focus on one practical solution at a time. Letting his anxiety rule him wouldn't gain him Cloud's trust. "May I borrow some cleaning supplies in the meantime?" he asked.

Cloud gave him a resentful blink - he'd gone and interrupted a perfectly good panic loop. "What for?"

Sephiroth turned his gaze to the crude depiction of Masamune, glared at it. "That," he said firmly, "has to go."

*

Sephiroth spent the morning scrubbing the graffiti off Aeris's church, but it wasn't enough. Traces of the paint remained in the wood. A couple of curious teenagers tried to enter that afternoon, peering through the windows and rattling the newly-barred door; Sephiroth hid in the bell tower until they gave up. Marlene and Denzel were quieter and more clingy when they visited him after school, which set off alarm bells under his skin but he endured it for their sake. They told him what they overheard Tifa telling Cloud - that her customers were abuzz with rumors that the Silver General had returned, some of them flattering, others rather less so - and what Cloud had told Tifa in turn - that more Masamune marks had appeared in the area.

Sephiroth had told Marlene and Denzel nothing in return; the words racing around and around his brain weren't fit to share with anyone, much less children. Perhaps he should have found _something_ to say, something reassuring - something _Zack_ might have said - for a few days later, Denzel got into a fight at school.

Sephiroth didn't hear about it until the next day. Both children were kept from the church that evening, leaving Sephiroth only with a faint crinkle of sympathy from Cloud when he brought dinner and coffee. The next morning Marlene alone came to see him, and swinging between rage and tears, told him what had happened.

"Cloud and your teacher are correct," Sephiroth told her dutifully, when her tirade dissolved into tear-stained clinging. "He shouldn't have resorted to punching, nor you to name-calling. But - I am grateful to have defenders."

"It wasn't you," Marlene hissed through her tears, and tightened her arms fiercely around him. "None of it was you. _This-"_ she rocked into him with all the strength in her tiny body - "is the real Sephiroth!"

_The real Sephiroth._ He wondered if such a creature existed, and what that creature had done to earn the faith of Barret Wallace's daughter and a boy orphaned by Meteor.

"Thank you," was all he could think to say, and Marlene hugged him fiercely again. _May this be enough this time._

*

Denzel was released from his punishment - 'grounding,' a concept Marlene had to explain as Sephiroth's childhood punishments had had nothing in common with it - the next day. The bruises on his face and arms were going yellow and green under his tan skin, and Sephiroth examined them professionally and offered advice on how to shield himself next time.

"You're teaching me how to fight?" Denzel asked dubiously, though he copied the stance Sephiroth showed him readily enough.

"Not at all - this is strictly defensive." Sephiroth adjusted Denzel's stance, reminding himself to be gentle - this was a child, not a recruit. "You were expecting me to lecture you?"

Denzel's dubious eyes said he was expecting just that, and Sephiroth hid a smile. "I have no authority to do so," he explained, "even if I wanted to. Besides - you've served out your sentence. Correct?"

"...yeah," Denzel admitted, starting to smile again.

"Good." Sephiroth nodded. "I'm better at practical solutions anyway. Shift your weight forward a bit." Denzel did so. "Good. Just like that. Marlene, do you want to try?"

Marlene, seated by Aeris's flower patch, lit up like the sun. She hopped to her feet and raced to them, throwing herself into the same stance as Denzel with more enthusiasm than skill. She wiggled impatiently when Sephiroth corrected her stance, and Sephiroth wondered if he had ever been so eager as a boy.

"Right. Now, I'm going to show you the block slowly. Follow what I do."

*

Sephiroth met Cloud at the door when he came to collect the children. "Cloud," he began, his stomach in knots - well aware that this was the first time he'd approached Cloud on his own initiative. "I think it's time for another bounty. A long-range one."

Cloud pressed his lips together, knowing immediately what Sephiroth referred to. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'll talk to Reeve."

"Thank you." Sephiroth nodded to him, and turned to accept good-night hugs from Marlene and Denzel. 

*

Gleipnir was unabashedly and uncomplicatedly happy to see him, nearly leaping the fence when Sephiroth passed by the paddock and joyfully beaking at him all over when Sephiroth finally got within range to be beaked. Sephiroth buried his fingers in the soft green feathers, breathed in his scent and murmured the big green's name.

"He's been doing well in his training," Chole volunteered, Gleipnir's tack in her hands and her knees obscured by nearly a dozen leggy chicks peeping for attention. Gleipnir dipped his beak to them to say hello as Sephiroth stared at them, wondering how long it'd been since he'd seen a chick, much less been afforded the chance to handle one.

"If you wanted Gleipnir to breed," Chole offered, and Sephiroth snapped out of his maudlin reverie.

"What?"

Chole nodded to Gleipnir. "Greens are rare," she pointed out as Gleipnir tilted his head to fix Sephiroth with one bright, curious eye. "His chicks won't be show birds, since his pedigree can't be verified, but he's a great bird by any rubric and he's excellent with the chicks. He'd make a wonderful father."

It was the longest speech Sephiroth had heard from the young woman. "You've devoted some thought to this," he observed.

Chole's smile was brief, but the warmth stayed in her eyes as she replied. "I don't think about anything else, really. That's what my brother says. Anyway," she forged ahead, "you don't need to answer right away, but if you're willing to put Gleipnir to stud, my father's already said he'll adjust the price of your stable rental accordingly."

That speech sounded rehearsed, and Sephiroth imagined that money was one of those things Chole's brother thought she didn't think about. "I'll consider it," he promised. "I don't know where I'll be by next year's mating season, but if I decide to breed him, you'll be the first ones I call." Chole smiled again, and helped Sephiroth with Gleipnir's tack.

When Chole had gone, Sephiroth eyed Gleipnir. "And just whom have you been courting," he demanded. Gleipnir fluffed out his feathers proudly and trilled. "Cheeky bird. I ought to demote you."

Well, demotions for flirting with strange hens would have to wait. Cloud was looking at him meaningfully from the paddock fence, and Sephiroth had a bounty to collect.

*

_He was lying on his back on a lab table, strapped down tightly like they hadn't had to do since he was a boy. He moved - testing the straps, not trying to break them - as Hojo leaned over him, his usual fog-headed frown deepening into a true scowl._

_"What a disappointment," he muttered._

_Sephiroth found he couldn't speak, couldn't even close his eyes as Hojo laid out the tools he needed. "Do you know how much you've set me back, boy?" he groused, syringes lining up like soldiers next to clamps, tongs, scalpels. "Centuries, at least. Maybe even millenia. I had such high hopes." The smell of antiseptic and Mako reached Sephiroth, making him flinch despite himself. "If I'd known how defective you'd be at the end, I would have terminated you and started over with Subject C."_

_A low snarl thundered through the air, one Hojo didn't seem to notice. Sephiroth searched the darkness, let out a low breath of relief at the glow of violet eyes in the dark._ Zack. _Then this was a dream._

_Explained the darkness in the room, really. Lab protocol insisted that operating arenas be brightly-lit._

_He saw Zack as a shadow on shadow, pacing back and forth about the edge of the room as Hojo continued to angrily prepare. He could read frustration in the lupine stalk, as easily as if Zack were human-shaped. Clearly Zack wanted to intervene, and couldn't. Sephiroth wanted to tell him it was all right, that it was enough that he was_ here _, that there was nothing to be done, and that this scenario was too familiar for him to hold any terror._

_The cold sting of alcohol touched his inner elbow, and Sephiroth knew that last to be a lie after all. His muscles locked, Zack's howl ringing in his ears as a needle filled with all his deepest fears pricked his skin-_

Sephiroth jerked awake and instantly had a faceful of feathers, a sleepy Gleipnir lifting his head with a grumpy wark. "Sorry," he mumbled, tucking his arms around himself, and Gleipnir mumbled himself back to sleep.

_Sorry, Zack,_ he thought, and lay back down. The ship around him rumbled and rocked, evidence of a restless sea beyond the blank metal walls that surrounded him. He'd never suffered from motion sickness, but tonight his stomach roiled like the angry sea and he had no hope of getting back to sleep.

*

The Corel Mountains were as verdant and rich with life as Sephiroth remembered from his last mission to the area over a decade ago. He'd followed Cloud through these mountains on their way from Rocket Town, of course, but he hadn't been in any mental state to admire the scenery then. Now, as Gleipnir picked his way deftly along the steep mountain trails overlooking Corel Valley, Sephiroth took in everything he could of the lay of the land.

The settlements had expanded and contracted and expanded again since his day, but the area still mostly belonged to the wildlife: the trail he and Gleipnir were on was a Bagnadrana trail, vegetation stomped flat underneath them and the trees on either side showing damaged bark and splintered branches. Tracks under Gleipnir's claws told Sephiroth of the presence of foxes, deer, and marten; a scorched tree was evidence of a Needle Kiss, and Sephiroth pulled Gleipnir up to study it thoughtfully. The lightning-using monster birds were a common sight in this area, but not this far from civilization; they, like many magic-capable monsters, fed partially on Mako, and so were drawn to reactors and the pipelines that spread outward from them. That a Needle Kiss had ventured so far away from human settlements meant that possibly there was a Mako fountain in the area, and with the Corel reactor inoperative the Needle Kiss population had found it necessary to change its habits.

Which might be a problem, because Needle Kiss seemed to have a special murderous fixation on Sephiroth. The last time he'd been in the area on a mission-

_-static-_

Gleipnir paused, sensing the sudden tension in his rider. Sephiroth forced himself to breathe until the headache subsided and his vision unblurred, grateful for his mount's sensitivity and patience while he was too preoccupied by pain to even curse. "Good bird," he murmured when he could speak again, patting Gleipnir's neck feathers, and nudged him into motion again.

This, he reflected, could be a problem if it happened in battle. So far the headaches only came when he thought about certain aspects of his past, which was unlikely when he was concentrating on fighting, but if those parameters changed...

...well, if they changed, he'd have to think of another way to earn gil to pay back Cloud and Tifa, that was all. Perhaps selling peppers at a market stall.

Gleipnir paused again at the inelegant snort that escaped Sephiroth then. "Wark?"

"I'm fine, Gleipnir." Sephiroth pressed a gloved hand to his face, swallowing his chortles with minimal success. "Let's keep going."

Their target was a Wolfmeister - another armored and armed monster, rare even in its normal mountainous stomping grounds, but a menace when its path crossed with that of humans, and Reeve had been wise to put up a bounty mission as soon as signs of the creature had been discovered. Sephiroth was equipped with another of Cloud's swords, one with a mythril-reinforced edge - Hardedge having suffered quite a respectable dent. "Try not to drop this one off any cliffs," Cloud had told him, and Sephiroth wanted to feel resentment except he could see that Cloud was trying not to laugh.

"I make no promises," he'd answered, grave as a judge, and got an amused scoff as his reward.

The mythril saber was a much more acceptable weapon in any case, and Cloud had seen fit to add an unmastered Gravity materia to Sephiroth's previous allotment of Restore and Barrier. Sephiroth was almost _confident_ as he rode further along the trail, his mind already flying ahead to the time after the battle when he would contact Cloud with the news that the job was done. Wolfmeisters were powerful creatures, but solitary and fairly stupid. He could handle this.

Gleipnir trotted past another scorched tree, this one nearly split in half, and Sephiroth amended that thought. _Provided I avoid the lightning birds._

*

_"Gleipnir, charge!"_

_"Waaaark!"_

Sephiroth bent over Gleipnir's neck as the bird sprinted, wings spread for balance. Behind them a half-dozen Needle Kiss swooped, filling the air with crackles of hot, sharp energy. He had failed to avoid the lightning birds. Oh, Shiva, how he had failed.

_Zack would be laughing at me right now._

Gleipnir was a sure-footed bird, even in panic; he took the last hundred yards of scrubby mountain path in four long strides and leaped the low cliff onto the railroad tracks without a hint of a stumble. Sephiroth clung to his saddle as Gleipnir scrambled down the tracks, swearing under his breath, acutely feeling the lack of a sword with Masamune's reach or, failing that, attack magic that could handle multiple targets. Even the loss of potency that the basic war magics suffered when wielded against multiple foes would have been acceptable right then, if only to weaken and discourage the monsters. Sephiroth risked a look back - he saw only sharp beaks and murderous intent, and one of them swooping upward, beak pointing upward like a lightning rod.

Sephiroth threw his weight to the side, forcing Gleipnir to turn sharply. Lightning struck where they'd been, swift and deadly as a new-forged blade, and he felt Gleipnir's ribs contract under his legs as the bird _shrieked_ in terror. This couldn't go on, for Gleipnir's sake - he wasn't a warbird, he had no place in battle!

"Gleipnir," he shouted, _"run,"_ and he threw himself out of the saddle.

No time to glance around to see if his bird would obey. Sephiroth hit the ground and rolled, gravel and sand biting into his skin, and came up with sword drawn and legs already in motion, charging into the flock before they could fully register the change in their prey's direction. Cloud's mythril blade was sharp still, despite the signs of hard use, and despite not being as long as Sephiroth would have liked it was still long enough to bisect two of the Needle Kiss before the rest could scatter out of his range.

"SOLDIER and Midgar!" he roared, just to keep their attention on him, and firmly denied himself permisson to think _neither of those things exists anymore thanks to me._

The flock - the two-thirds of it left - shrilled in response, wheeling around to target him. The air spat with lightning, strikes he could neither deflect nor dodge, and Sephiroth took the blows with a tight grimace and both hands locked around the mythril blade's hilt. Electrocution hurt just as much as he remembered. The birds' attacks were driving him back, toward the cliff's edge, and Sephiroth let it happen: if he charged them, they'd simply fly out of reach, but monsters grew bold when they thought their kill was at hand. _Crack_ , went the lightning against his bones, and Sephiroth hissed through the pain and waited for his opening. _Crack, hiss._ His sword was out and ready. Why weren't they charging?

Some irrational impulse made him glance down. Waiting for him at the bottom of the cliff, massive cleavers upraised, were four Wolfmeisters.

Lightning hit him like a chocobo's kick and Sephiroth lost purchase with the ground. _They're not supposed to do that!_ his mind protested as he fell, a child's wail of _unfair_ mingling with the baffled outrage of a monster scholar. _Their behavior patterns couldn't have changed this much this quickly!_

Well. Evidently they could and they had, and in the meantime the ground was coming up awfully fast. Time to do something about that.

Barrier softened some of the impact of landing, but even so Sephiroth's bones jarred and his teeth rattled as he landed in a three-point crouch, one gloved fist to the earth and the other still gripping tight to Cloud's mythril blade. The earth thundered as the Wolfmeisters charged. _No,_ Sephiroth mouthed, breathless, and surged up with a wide crescent slash that scored against heavy red armor. Another slash and the Wolfmeisters were falling back, metal clanking and clattering against stone. _Expecting an easier meal, were we?_ Sephiroth thought, and reached into the sword for the magic hidden there.

_Gravity_ fought him, harder to grasp than Restore or Barrier, spells that yearned to cherish and protect. Yet Sephiroth's greatest strength had always been his mastery of magic, even before acquiring the sword that had become his trademark. His mind grasped the knot of darkness that seethed heavily at the center of the Materia and he gestured at the nearest Wolfmeister. The spell slammed into the monster mid-charge, knocking it to the earth amid a squeal of bending armor plating. The spell wouldn't kill the creature - Gravity rarely did - but the heavy beast wouldn't be getting up any time soon. Sephiroth turned, sword held before him, and cast a second spell, and a third, the ground shaking beneath him as the behemoths fell.

The fourth did not try to close the distance. Instead it lifted its cleaver skyward, and Sephiroth swore and leaped aside just as a lightning-strike of blue energy hit the ground where he'd been. His path took him within reach of the first Wolfmeister, who'd struggled to one knee - just recovered enough to lash out, cleaver's edge glinting in the light. Sephiroth whipped his blade up hard, _clang,_ and lashed out with his hand already full of dense power pulled from the heart of the Planet.

_Gravity_ fired. The Wolfmeister went flying.

The blowback launched Sephiroth into the air and he used it, finding his balance in landing and using the momentum he had to leap sword-first into the path of Wolfmeister number two. The blade cleaved into the gap between chestplates with a horrible screech, echoed when Sephiroth pulled it free ahead of the monster's death throes.

_Two left._ He wasn't out of danger yet.

The pair of Wolfmeisters left still flanked him, though, and they were doing something else they shouldn't have known to do: coordinating their attack. They lifted their cleavers again, summoning the energy bursts they were feared for. Sephiroth felt the prickle against his skin like the edge of a pair of blades and knew he'd never be able to dodge both. He folded, thrusting the strongest Barrier he could muster into the air over him, knowing that it would do precious little against energy blasts.

His spell sketched a rainbow umbrella over him, not a dull silver one, and the twin blasts of Atomic Ray scattered harmlessly over its surface like raindrops.

Sephiroth took only a single breath, a gasp of disbelief - of delight - and with the spell humming a smug note of _protect_ in his mind he charged again, turning his back fearlessly on the monster to his right to close the distance with the other. Energy fell around him, clashing like thunder, singeing the ground around his boots. Heedless, Sephiroth leaped, haloed with blue sparks, his sword humming with magic and his own wordless roar.

The monster's armor, already weakened by Gravity, crumpled under Sephiroth's blade. Its cleaver slipped from segmented fingers and thudded into the dirt. With a harsh breath, Sephiroth braced his boot on the monster's hip and yanked his sword free, pushing the monster backward with the same motion so its corpse would fall backward rather than on him. Sword in hand, monster's ichor slowly evaporating from the blade and his rainbow shield glowing around him, Sephiroth turned to face the last monster standing.

The Wolfmeister's face was masked and armored, and had no expression. Yet in its stance as it stepped back Sephiroth read hesitancy and fear, as clearly as if it were human. It stepped back again, clearly wanting distance between it and this _bigger monster_ , and pulled its energy together for a final energy-burst attack.

Sephiroth wasn't about to let it live that long, and he didn't need to close the distance. His fist filled with power and he cradled it only a moment before throwing it, the purple-black orb of Gravity lancing across to engulf the Wolfmeister in magic like a crushing fist.

When the spell spent itself, the Wolfmeister was on its hands and knees and Sephiroth was there, sword upraised. It had only the time to lift one hand before Sephiroth struck its head from its body.

_Mission complete._ Sephiroth wobbled, hanging onto his balance by his fingertips. Had he been this godsdamned tired after battles before his death? _I'm out of practice,_ he berated himself, dragging himself back toward the cliffs to check that the other three were well and truly dead. He forgot about the rainbow shield over his head, courtesy of a Materia that had apparently experienced a mid-battle growth spurt, until it split a bolt of electricity out of nowhere and faded, its strength spent. Sephiroth jumped, spinning with sword lifted - there, high atop the cliff, perched several dark feathered figures watching him with murder in their eyes. _The Needle Kiss. Too much to hope they'd flown away._

Maybe they were trying to finish him off. Maybe they were just trying to drive him off so they could feast on the corpses he had made. Either way, Sephiroth wasn't about to let them be. He grimly recast his shield spell and lifted his sword, determined to finish what he started.

The first Needle Kiss spread its wings - and a bright blue laser skewered it, sending it plummeting to Earth in a trail of burning feathers. The other three scattered with shrieks of alarm and fury, only to be cut down with unerring precision and ruthlessness by the same laser, wielded by a man who even as Sephiroth stared in disbelief was folding his gun-arm away into a cybernetic hand.

"Gettin' rusty, General?" said Barret Wallace.

"You're not the first to make that observation," Sephiroth answered dryly, finding a convenient stump and plopping down on it and laying down his borrowed sword. The less he could look like a threat to this man, the better. "...thank you for the assist," he added in a lower tone.

Barret shifted. "Wasn't for you," he gruffed. "I was just helpin' out a bird."

"...bird?"

Sephiroth lifted his head, startled as the bushes behind Barret exploded out in a cloud of frantic green feathers and a strident "WARK!"

"Gleipnir-!"

_"Waaaaark!"_

Gleipnir almost bowled him off his seat entirely. Before Sephiroth quite regained his equilibrium, Gleipnir peered at him closely from one eye, then the other, then reared up and pecked him firmly on the crown.

_"Ouch!_ Gleipnir..."

_"Wark,"_ Gleipnir scolded, and settled in for a grumbling, feather-poofed preening session. Sephiroth glanced Barret's way without moving his head - the man was openly snickering at him.

Sephiroth sighed. "Understood, Gleipnir," he said, patting the bird's shoulder. "Thank you for fetching help. I'll be more careful next time." Gleipnir grumble-crooned around his mouthful of hair, not mollified but well on the way.

He felt Barret's approach and held still for it, too tired to defend himself if the man were of a mind to berate him again as he had in Rocket Town. Instead he leaned against a tree with a sigh, regarding the pair with his arms crossed - the contrast between brown flesh and silver metal was startling, when Sephiroth dared a glance up. "So," Barret grunted, "that your mission done with?"

Sephiroth's gaze was drawn to the nearest dead Wolfmeister, its broken pieces mingling with those of its - siblings? Children? Hunting party? Beyond it, he could see the signs of their passage leading into the trees, the opposite way from where Barret and Gleipnir had come from. He sighed. "No. Upon review, I'm afraid not."

"Huh?"

Sephiroth nodded to the Wolfmeister corpse. "If there had been only one, I would have killed it and assumed my mission to be complete. But there were four." Gleipnir warbled worriedly over his head, and Sephiroth absently reached out to pat his feathers. "Their habits have clearly changed. I can't assume anything - I have to confirm that there are no more of them in the area."

Barret was silent a moment, but Sephiroth could see his gaze travel downslope, toward what he assumed was Barret's hometown. "So what are you gonna do?" the other man asked.

Gleipnir had finally let up on Sephiroth's hair enough that he could stand up, one hand resting on the bird's shoulder. "I have to find their nest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter, my posting speed is officially outstripping my writing speed. I will TRY to stick to the established schedule, but from here on in, expect delays. ...and, sorry in advance.


	9. Chapter 8: Corel Reactor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth finds something ominous, at the cost of his dignity.

Barret was not the prickliest hunting companion Sephiroth had ever had, but even so Sephiroth respected the man's seeming preference for quiet. It was preferable for him too, letting him concentrate on the terrain and the signs that the massive Wolfmeisters couldn't help but leave. Gleipnir walked between them, blissfully oblivious to the tension.

A questioning chirp from the bird made Sephiroth pause, and he glanced back to see Barret with his hands on his hips, scowling at him. "You _sure_ this is the right way," he demanded after a moment.

"Fairly sure," Sephiroth answered cautiously. "Why?"

Barret didn't answer - just turned his head, and scowled, and muttered, "Aw, _dammit._ "

That - wasn't encouraging, but Sephiroth couldn't have asked what was wrong even if he'd been able to put the words together. He turned back to the trail again, pushing his disquiet to the side. _You have a job to do still, S._

Barret was a puzzle. So far as Sephiroth was aware he'd never killed anyone close to Barret himself; the razing of Corel Tifa had spoken of had happened a year after his first death. Yet Barret seemed to hate him more than any of Cloud's friends. Yuffie, the heir to Wutai's ruling house, had mocked him mercilessly in Rocket Town with a cheerful grin; Cloud had agreed to take charge of him, however reluctantly; even Tifa seemed to be warming to him. The only person who seemed to resent him as much was perhaps Vincent-

...well, Vincent was even more of a mystery, but even he hadn't been overtly hostile. _Perhaps it's protectiveness,_ Sephiroth mused, placing his footsteps carefully around the occasional Wolfmeister print. _He hates me on behalf of the others, so they may deal with me more normally. Someone has to hold onto it all._

But then there was Marlene. The way the girl talked, Sephiroth couldn't imagine she hadn't told her beloved Papa about him. Why did Barret continue to permit his daughter access to a hated enemy? If he forbade it, surely Cloud and Tifa would listen.

 _He trusts them,_ Sephiroth realized. _He trusts them with the life of his daughter._

The thought was sobering and strangely warming at the same time. He wanted to ask Barret about it directly, but Barret probably wouldn't answer him.

The trees were thinning. Sephiroth cleared the last of them and found himself standing on the tracks leading up to a massive, squat building of the type he recognized all too well. This must be the famed Corel Reactor.

"...was afraid of that," Barret commented, and Sephiroth ruthlessly squelched the instinct to jump. "What now, General?"

"I'll have to enter," Sephiroth sighed.

"Just remembering the last time you were in one of these things."

 _Must he bring that up? ...never mind._ "I'm fairly sure," Sephiroth answered brittlely, "Hojo didn't stash a chunk of Jenova's corpse in every reactor on Gaia."

"...wouldn't be surprised," Barret muttered, and Sephiroth's stomach twisted uneasily.

"In any case," he forged ahead determinedly, "I have no choice."

"Maybe their nest ain't even in there."

Sephiroth was already forcing himself to march, his only concession to nerves being one hand on Gleipnir's wing. "Where better for a man-sized monster to nest than a defunct reactor? The nest is there. Hopefully it won't be too far in, but regardless..."

"All right, all right, General." Gravel crunched under heavy boots as Barret hurried to fall in, marching with Gleipnir between himself and Sephiroth. Gleipnir warbled contentedly, clearly accepting Barret as a flockmate. "Stubborn jackass. Startin' to remind me of Spike."

Fresh tension sang through Sephiroth's nerves, and he swallowed a protest before he could even analyze his feelings enough to encompass them in words. He would never be insulted by a comparison to Cloud, but given the younger man's history of being tampered with Sephiroth doubted the reverse was true.

*

Reactors were always built the same way, no matter where they were: plains, mountains, it had made no difference to Shinra. Efficiency was Shinra's design philosophy: everything, including nature itself, would bow to it.

Which was a long-winded way of saying _they tore up a perfectly good mountain to build this ugly thing,_ but Sephiroth was perfectly content to use Shinra's predictability to his advantage one last time. Past the entranceway, sword out; along walkways that creaked and whispered with five years' age and rust; bypassing the powerless elevator via a service corridor that made Barret huff in irritation when Sephiroth led him into it.

"Wish we'd known about this," he muttered, and Sephiroth tilted his head but chose not to respond.

"Why, precisely, are you still following me?" he asked instead, and Barret's huff sounded amused this time.

"Guess I'm a softy. Gotta make sure you get back to your bird, right?"

Indeed, Gleipnir had not been happy to be left behind at the entrance, but a reactor with five years' worth of decay was not safe for a large flightless bird. "Indeed," Sephiroth murmured, disbelieving. "Cloud trusts me to hunt monsters unsupervised, you know."

"Cloud doesn't know everything." Barret paused as Sephiroth opened the door to the lower landing and stepped through, sword first. When the landing proved to be clear, Sephiroth waved Barret through. "Besides," Barret continued, "Corel's _my_ town, and I got a debt to it."

Debts, Sephiroth understood. He nodded tightly and moved on again, down the creaking stairs into the chambers surrounding the core.

The nest wasn't difficult to find after that: Barret and Sephiroth could smell it before they saw it, the reek of rotting flesh overpowering all else. Barret complained loudly as though he could drown out the smell with noise; Sephiroth simply covered his mouth and nose with one hand and kept going, eyes streaming and throat spasming with threats to heave up what little he'd eaten that morning. He could have hugged Barret with relief when he pointed out the pile of shredded vegetation spilling out one of the vehicle storage rooms, clearly the bedding material the Wolfmeisters had been using. He refrained, though, sheathed his sword and climbed down the ladder to face whatever was in there.

He paused just inside the room, long enough that Barret caught up to him. "Aww, hell," he muttered, surveying the half-dozen monster hatchlings that hissed and rattled at them. "I hate this part."

"On this, we agree," Sephiroth sighed.

He hadn't asked for assistance, but he wasn't surprised when Barret stepped up. The two of them divided the grim work between them, of killing the hatchlings as swiftly and humanely as they could. The fresh corpses joined two older, crumpled bodies, clearly of late used as playthings by their siblings, and the half-eaten, fly-blown carcass of the local therapod Bagnadrana. Sephiroth averted his eyes from the sight, wishing he could turn his sense of smell off the same way. Across the room, Barret was poking through the shreds of bedding with a handy stick.

"Think that's all of 'em," he commented, straightening and tossing the stick away.

Sephiroth nodded to him. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Wallace."

Consternation flashed across Barret's face, and Sephiroth was almost tempted to laugh until the expression faded to hard-edged grief. "...still don't sound right," Barret muttered, turning away, and Sephiroth winced to himself. "So, is that it?"

"Well..." Sephiroth let his eyes roam around the room. "...something still worries me," he admitted, and Barret groaned. "Did you see any signs of their passage around the main entrance?"

Barret waved his flesh hand in a 'don't ask me' gesture. "You're the expert, not me. I've never hunted in my life."

"They may have discovered a second entrance," Sephiroth explained. "I just want to be certain."

Barret crossed his arms, impatient, as Sephiroth felt his way back out of the Wolfmeisters' den, searching for telltale scrapes, breakages, anything that could tell him of the adult Wolfmeisters' passing. He found it in the torn-off door to a supply closet and entered with a cautious step. Surely there was no entry to the outside here, what could the monsters possibly-

The floor fell out from under him and he plummeted into darkness with an unmanly shriek.

Fortunately the fall was broken by a set of stairs, which guided Seph in their own gravity-assisted way to ground with - he was fairly sure as he sat up dizzily - no broken bones. As the room stopped spinning, he heard an unfamiliar and rather unwelcome sound: Barret whooping with laughter. "I'm glad one of us is enjoying this," he muttered, hauling himself to his feet. "Mr. Wa- ...Barret, can you bring a light down?"

"Sure, one sec...! ...pfft."

Just this once Sephiroth felt no shame in glaring at Barret as he came down, waving his PHS before him like a flashlight. Barret answered his glare, which at one point had had even the most hardened SOLDIERs quaking in their boots, with an irreverent grin. "How's your head, General?"

"Just fine, thank you."

The landing (ha) they found themselves in was short, with a single unmarked door ahead of them. Sephiroth tried the door, prepared to kick it down if necessary, but to his surprise the door meekly opened for him. Beyond it...

...it was hard to make sense of it at first, in the dim inconstant light of Barret's PHS, but the more Sephiroth saw the more his heart sank. He _knew_ this layout, better than he knew Shinra's reactors. A room like this had been his home for the first fourteen years of his life. 

"Those Mako tubes?" Barret's voice echoed off the age-stained walls as he shone the light on the glassy surface of a quartet of containment tubes.

"Yes," Sephiroth admitted in a near-whisper.

Barret turned to him, all traces of humor gone, and his light followed Sephiroth silently as he paced his way around the underground lab. Glass crunched under his boots and he glanced down, then back up at the shelving where the glass had probably come from. The control consoles were cold and dark, smeared with dust that smelled of Mako when he touched it. The tubes...

"These were drained recently," he said without thinking, and Barret jerked, his PHS's light juddering briefly over Sephiroth's crouched form.

"How can you tell?" he demanded.

"There's residue in the grate." Sephiroth rose, turned to face him. "I can't give you an exact timeframe without knowing the composition of the medium, but back - back at Shinra Headquarters it took at least forty-eight days for Mako residue to evaporate completely. Barret - are you absolutely sure Hojo is dead?"

Barret's look of shock folded down into a resolute frown. "I was there, Sephiroth. I helped put the bastard down myself."

Standing as close as they were, Sephiroth realized with some shock that Barret was nearly as tall as he was - and a lot broader. _The immovable object to Cloud's unstoppable force._ "Then," he sighed, "someone else has been here. As to what they found, or set loose..."

"Shinra," Barret growled. "We'll never be free of their damn sins." He turned, storming back toward the stairs - taking his light with him, and Sephiroth hurried after him before he could be lost in darkness.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Where d'you think?" Barret shot back over his shoulder. "I'm callin' Reeve!"

*

The World Regenesis Organization's flagship ran largely on coal from the Corel Mountains, which went a long way toward making Barret forgive Reeve Tuesti for being a former Shinra executive. There was even an airship dock in Corel at Barret's urging, a strange amenity in a town that had few amenities not related to mining. When the airship landed at dock, it dwarfed the town.

"Reeve, you bastard!" Barret roared across the tarmac, striding forward as a trim, bearded man emerged from the airship. The guards who'd preceded him smartly stepped aside, their postures relaxed to Sephiroth's trained eye, as though they knew the massive man barreling at them was no threat. Sephiroth, not so assured, stayed right where he was, well away from guards and former executives alike though he was still well within earshot of them.

"Barret," Reeve greeted, a note of dry humor in his voice as he clasped Barret's shoulder - on the unaugmented side, wisely. "How are things in Corel?"

"Like you don't know, you nosey ass," Barret responded, giving Reeve a gentle sock on the arm that drove him back a step. "Those wind turbines of yours are gonna pay for themselves within the next five years, and fuck you for always bein' right anyway. What are we gonna do with ourselves out here without coal mining, anyway?"

"In five years, we'll still have forty-five years left of the Global Clean Energy Initiative, according to current predictions," Reeve answered placidly. "I'm sure there'll be plenty for everyone to do. And our descendants will thank us."

"You gonna have descendants?" Barret demanded, openly doubtful. Reeve arched his eyebrows, but refrained from commenting.

"Is that Cloud's guest?" he asked instead, sharp eyes flickering to Sephiroth. Sephiroth hoped the sudden tension in his spine wasn't noticeable.

"Yeah, that's him. He kinda-" A muffled noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Found the lab. On accident."

 _My dignity and my tailbone will never recover._ Sephiroth sighed and tried to look as impassive as he could in hand-me-down clothes and a half-undone braid. Too late he realized he was at attention as Reeve stopped in front of him.

"General," he greeted.

"Mr. Tuesti."

Reeve grimaced, the expression deepening the lines of his face, and Sephiroth was struck by how much _older_ he looked. It had been ten years since Sephiroth had last seen him - that he remembered - but he looked twenty years older, at least. "Just Reeve, please."

"Understood."

Reeve eyed him a moment longer, then looked away. He did not offer his hand or say 'welcome back,' as Tseng had. _He doesn't want anything from me,_ a sardonic thought passed through his head. _Tseng - or rather, Rufus - stood to profit from ignoring my sins._

"Well," Reeve said, interrupting Sephiroth's bitter thoughts, "let's see about this lab of yours."

"We're takin' a coal car this time," Barret put in. "I dunno about you, General, but I'm about done with monsters for the day."

Sephiroth hesitated. "Is it - necessary that I come along?"

Barret fielded the question to Reeve with a glance. "I would prefer it," Reeve admitted. "You're our only expert on Hojo's lab practices. If there's anything unusual about the place you're most likely to spot it. Unless you've noted something already...?"

"We weren't there very long," Sephiroth admitted grudgingly. _Expert on Hojo's lab practices? Am I supposed to be flattered?_

Reeve's chin dipped in a nod. "I can't force you, of course. But under the circumstances..."

"...no, you're right." Sephiroth held back a sigh. "Just - give me a few minutes. I need to check in with Cloud."

*

Cloud was not pleased when Sephiroth explained the situation over his borrowed PHS, but he agreed that Sephiroth should stay and lend his expertise. "Just don't let Reeve talk you into leading a task force or something," he added.

"I don't think he'd trust me at the head of a janitorial detail," Sephiroth assured him, earning an amused snort over the static-fuzzy line. "I'll report in again when I'm on the way home."

Returning to the lab site was as unpleasant as Sephiroth had anticipated - a hot, crowded, awkward ride culminating in a dark, smelly, unpleasant place full of unpleasant memories. But Sephiroth was used to onerous duties. He stood near the back of the lab, back straight and stiff, and took mental notes as the WRO staff took pictures and inventory and finally started carting everything out. Not one of them met his eyes. He was grateful - he wasn't sure what his expression looked like right now, but in his General days he had tended to frighten people with a glance when he was-

_-flash-_

...stressed.

"Hey, workaholic! Let's go!" Barret's voice barking from the stairwell, obscurely comforting in its combativeness. Sephiroth pulled himself away from the wall - when had his back gotten so stiff? - and headed up the stairs after him. His headache would fade once he got some fresh air.

*

Fresh air was not in Sephiroth's immediate future. After an equally uncomfortable coal car ride back to Corel, he was ushered straight to Reeve's airship, where he, Barret, and the WRO operatives gather for the debrief.

"Forensic analysis is ongoing, but all indications so far point to the lab being used in the past month." The squad leader paced in front of the projection, obscuring it with her own shadow for a moment. "There are signs of biological experimentation, but few notes. However, given the history of the reactor given by Mr. Wallace-" Barret nodded to her. "It is unlikely the lab existed prior to nine years ago."

"What was it used for?" Reeve asked from the back row when the squad leader faltered.

The squad leader shook her head, clearly pulling her train of thought back on track. "It appeared to be a biology lab," she said. "There were four mako tubes, recently drained. Several sedative compounds, biological samples - judging by their labels, at least. The samples themselves were either missing or highly degraded." _Missing,_ Sephiroth thought with a wince. "In addition, we found the entrance the Wolfmeisters had been using for their nest, but no alternate entrance to the lab. There was no evidence of human-monster conflict other than - well - the hatchlings, so the monsters must have moved in after our Unknown Party left."

A younger woman seated to her left leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Or the monsters were what was in those tubes," she pointed out. "Four tubes - four Wolfmeisters, right?"

Every eye turned to Sephiroth. Throat burning, he nodded tightly. "A parting gift, maybe," the squad leader mused. "Or covering their tracks."

"Or a lure." A third operative glanced at Sephiroth again as he spoke, and Sephiroth tried not to hunch his shoulders.

Reeve shook his head. "Speculation is useless at this stage. Without the forensic reports, or any notes...?" He trailed off hopefully, but received only headshakes and regretful shrugs in return. "I suppose it's too much to hope they'd be that careless. Sephiroth-"

Sephiroth's back snapped straight on half-panicked instinct; he fought to school his expression as the entire room turned to look at him again. "We haven't had a chance to hear your thoughts," Reeve said, his voice calm, neutral - commanding in a way that had nothing to do with barked orders or battlefield roars. "In your opinion, is this lab connected with Hojo?"

Sephiroth swallowed. "Almost certainly." Reeve's expression darkened. "If so, whatever was in those tubes - may have started out human."

_Rows and rows of pods, bodies floating in Mako, encrusted with it, no longer human-_

"...fuck," Barret muttered, breaking the room's attention on Sephiroth. He slumped in relief as they turned to each other in discussion again.

"So we're looking for someone who was familiar with Hojo's work," the squad leader summarised, her voice rising over her chatter. "Maybe a colleague, or a lab tech - someone who was close enough to know or to figure out where Hojo's secret lab was."

"Hojo wasn't _that_ close to anybody," another argued. "It must've been a rival who stole his notes after he died or something-"

Reeve cleared his throat and the room quieted. "Actually," he said, "I have a - speculation."

"Sir?" the squad leader prompted.

Reeve actually rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture so painfully familiar that Sephiroth had to blink a couple of times before the sheepish expression on Reeve's face actually looked natural. "A high-profile guest of ours, just after Meteorfall-" His eyes flicked to Sephiroth, but Sephiroth was too tense already and didn't flinch at the mention. "We lost track of her after she left Junon."

"So who's 'her'?" Barret demanded.

"Well..." Reeve hedged. Barret's eyes were all for Reeve, but Sephiroth was watching the other WRO members, and could see the ripple of 'oh!' as realization hit for each individual.

"Dammit, don't play games with me, Reeve." Barret could loom with the best of them when he wished, Sephiroth noted. "Whoever 'her' is, she released four Wolfmeisters within shouting distance of Corel. Now _spill."_

Reeve's throat worked. "...did I ever mention, Scarlet is still alive?"

"...you _what?_ ....Goddammit, Reeve!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 progress: about 50%.


	10. Chapter 9: Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years of training and experience in warfare could not prepare Sephiroth for _wontons._

"Of all the - _Scarlet?"_

"What were my people supposed to do - leave her to die?" The WRO operatives were staring at Reeve - clearly they weren't used to hearing that sharp tone in their Director's voice, the dangerous snap in his eyes. "Meteor was coming down. They were under orders to save everyone they could - and at the time, they were still Shinra employees. They had no reason to walk away."

Barret was all a-bristle in contrast to Reeve's eighty-percent-calm, and Sephiroth caught a couple of the larger operatives subtly moving to cover their Director. "That vicious parasite nearly gassed Tifa to death on live TV," Barret barked, and everyone - Reeve included - blanched. "Is that reason enough for you?"

"I know what she's done better than you do." Reeve broke their staring contest, scrubbing his palms briefly on his thighs. "But she came to us gravely injured, and it was our job to provide aid. So that's what we did. We airlifted her to the nearest hospital-"

"And it didn't occur to you to hand her over to stand trial as soon as-"

"Stand trial?" Reeve almost laughed. "Who was left to try her? The world's power structures were _crumbling,_ barring Wutai. Rufus was presumed dead, Midgar was - just _gone,_ Junon was in revolt, everywhere else was in bunker mode - believe me, Barret, a lot more criminals than Scarlet escaped justice in those days."

_Those days. The days after Meteor fell._

Barret flung a hand up - his flesh hand, the metal one still clenched at his side. "And now she's running around screwing with Hojo's old experiments."

"That's only speculation. We have no proof it's her."

"Yeah?" Barret leaned in. "How long's it been since y'all had any idea where she was?" Reeve's gaze slid to one side. "...god _dammit,_ Reeve," Barret murmured, shaking his head.

Reeve let out a slow sigh. "My thoughts exactly," he admitted.

Sephiroth sank back against the wall, eyes clenched shut against the increasing pounding behind his temples. _Scarlet - Shinra - Hojo_ chased each other around and around the inside of his head. _What could she want, what could she hope to accomplish, why did Hojo have that lab to begin with-!_

A small hand laid itself over his wrist and he jumped. "Sorry," whispered the one who'd dared to touch him, a young woman with twin blonde pigtails laid over the shoulders of her WRO uniform. "I didn't mean to startle you. Are you all right?"

Sephiroth blinked, slow to process the question. She was standing between him and the still-arguing Barret and Reeve, blocking out some of their sharp noise; it didn't help with the pain but did give Sephiroth space to deal with it. "...headache," he admitted finally.

The young operative gave him a faint smile. "Let's go to the deck. I don't think the Director will mind."

Indeed, they hardly seemed to remember anyone else existed. Sephiroth nodded, and this time when the young woman patted his wrist to guide him he didn't flinch.

*

The operative was kind enough to bring him a glass of cold water, and between that and the cool wind Sephiroth felt much better. He paced along the deck just to ease the ache of inactivity, aware all the time that the operative had lingered and was watching him with open curiosity.

"You must have many questions," he murmured at last, and the operative blinked.

"Well - yeah," she admitted. "I mean, yes sir. Only the Director instructed us not to pester you."

 _Did he now._ "Did he say anything else about me?"

Now the young woman's gaze dropped, embarrassed. "Just - to treat you like we would any of our other clients, regardless of what - ....of what we might've heard," she admitted in a lower voice.

Sephiroth felt himself smiling humorlessly and did nothing to hide it. Hojo wasn't here to disapprove. "I fear to ask what you've heard."

The blonde shrugged. "Just - things. Some of it was flattering. Other stuff..." She shrugged again, leaving it to Sephiroth's imagination. He didn't try to imagine any of it - none of the rumors could be worse than the truth. "Anyway," she went on cheerily, "you're clearly not dead, so that disproves some of the rumors right there!"

Sephiroth hummed noncommittally, unable to confirm her conclusion with any amount of truth. "...hm," escaped him, and the operative sat back, confusion warring with discipline in her face. True to her word, though, she didn't press any further.

"...what's your name?" Sephiroth asked at last.

"May, sir." A brief twist of a smile. "Specialist Lily May. ...My dad was in SOLDIER. He went missing on a mission a few months before Meteor."

Sephiroth's black heart twisted as he realized what must have been her father's fate. "I... I'm sorry," he managed.

Lily shook her head. "It's all right. I mean - it's not, I miss him, but-" A deep breath. "He respected you. He was full of stories about you, especially before you - you know. Disappeared." She waved a hand, a quick 'poof' gesture. "He was kind of the reason I joined WRO. I wanted to sign up with Shinra ever since I was little, be a SOLDIER like him - I had the application pack for the Shinra army all filled out when Meteor happened, you know." A quick, bleak grin, the look of a child who's seen war - Sephiroth knew those eyes well, after Wutai. "Anyway, when I turned fourteen, SOLDIER was gone, and WRO - well, it was Director Reeve's people who got me and my siblings out of the city. So I joined them instead, and I'm glad. I'm really - I'm actually _helping_ people here."

Sephiroth found himself smiling again. At Specialist May's energy, her determination, and the kind heart underneath it all. Yes, he was glad Shinra never got his claws in this one. "My memory is not what it was," he told her as gently as he could. "I'm sorry to tell you that I don't remember your father, though that may change in time." He saw the flash of disappointment in her eyes, and allowed it to pierce his heart. "But - I think he would be proud of you. Any father would."

Disappointment melted into a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir. That means a lot."

The sublevel hatch opened; Sephiroth jerked back from her, suddenly painfully aware of how close he'd been to her. Specialist May blinked, startled but not scared, as Barret ascended the stairs. "Hey, go get your bird," he ordered. "Reeve's giving us a lift back to Edge."

"'Us'?" Sephiroth questioned.

Barret flashed a grin. "I got a few words for Miss Scarlet, and guess where she was last time any WRO goons saw her."

 _Ah._ Sephiroth straightened and nodded to Specialist May, who sketched a salute in return. "I'll take your glass back to the mess for you, sir," she offered.

"Thank you." Sephiroth handed the water glass over and followed Barret to disembark. "Has Cloud been informed of the change of plans?" he asked. "He's not expecting me back for a few days."

"Nah," Barret dismissed, grinning, "Spike loves surprises. Trust me."

One eyebrow lifted, Sephiroth deadpanned, "Tifa."

"...owch. All right," he fished out his PHS and tossed it into Sephiroth's hands, "you make the call. I gotta ask my neighbor to water my plants."

The mental image of dragon-big, dragon-fierce Barret fussing over _houseplants_ of all things made Sephiroth bite his tongue against an undignified sputter of laughter. Grateful that Barret's back was to him, he dialed Cloud's number and put the PHS to his ear.

_"Lockheart and Strife Delivery Services. If it's an emergency, please call your local World Regenesis Organization branch. Otherwise leave a message at the beep." ...Beep._

"Cloud? Sephiroth. I've just been informed that I'll be accompanying Barret and Reeve back to Edge by airship. Reeve has floated a theory as to who last used the hidden lab in the reactor, and she may be in Edge. ...please keep the children close."

Barret, halfway back down the stairs again, gave him a strange look over his shoulder at that but didn't say anything.

*

Marlene ran for the airship almost before it was fully docked, her joyful cry easily reaching Sephiroth's ears. _"Papa!"_

Barret barreled past the WRO sentries who disembarked first and charged down the tarmac. Sephiroth watched from the deck, smiling, as Barret swept up his daughter and spun her around. "Baby girl!" he crowed amid Marlene's shrieks of laughter. "Look atcha, you're gettin' more beautiful every time I see you!"

"Awww," whispered one of the specialists. Sephiroth glanced to one side, half expecting Lily May to be grinning up at him, but it was a stranger who met his eyes - hardly older than May, and quick to break eye contact with him. Sephiroth withdrew from the railing - Gleipnir was waiting for him in the hold.

His bird had endured the airship ride with no fuss whatsoever, but as Sephiroth led him into the sunlight on the tarmac, he spread his wings and stretched his neck, clearly relieved to be out of that strange metal stable his human had put him in. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and Gleipnir swung his head around to beak at him. "Yes, I know. We'll go for a run later. Hush now." He gave Gleipnir a pat before nudging him away. Marlene had spotted him and had wiggled down from her Papa's arms to charge over; Sephiroth hadn't yet seen how Gleipnir was with children yet, and wanted the chocobo calm and focused for her approach.

"Slowly," he warned as she came close enough, and Marlene slowed to a trot.

"I know," she assured him. "I lived in Kalm for a while, there's chocobos there. Hi, pretty bird..." She extended a hand, palm up, and beamed when Gleipnir gently stretched out to beak at her fingers.

"I see I shouldn't have worried," Sephiroth observed. "Are Denzel and the grownups with you?"

"Cloud's teaching," Marlene answered, all of her attention on Gleipnir. "Tifa and Denzel are here. You're a sweet bird, yes you are..." she cooed, and Sephiroth had to stop and reverse his train of thought. Marlene was talking to the _chocobo,_ not to him. "May I scratch your crest? Would you like that, pretty bird?"

"His name is Gleipnir," Sephiroth supplied as Gleipnir happily submitted to the crest-scratching. "...and I think you're his new best friend."

Marlene grinned as Gleipnir warbled his contentment. "I like him too. Do you think I could ride him?"

"You'd have to ask your papa, but I wouldn't mind as long as you let me lead." The idea of Gleipnir suddenly taking off with tiny Marlene clinging to his back made some instinct within him sit up and go _oh dear fancy Odin no._ "Did you get much chance to ride chocobos when you were living in Kalm?"

Marlene shrugged up her shoulders, squinting apologetically. "Nnnot really? The stable guy said 'these aren't ridin' chocobos!'" She forced her voice into a low, rough register, clearly imitating whoever had chased a small, impressionable Marlene away from the chocobos. "So I've read books about riding but I've never ridden before."

"I see." Sephiroth cast a glance at Gleipnir, who was still gazing affectionately at Marlene. "Well, you could do worse for your first bird. Do you think Denzel would like to ride too?"

Marlene lit up. "Bet he would!"

"Let's go find him, then."

Marlene was happy to lead Sephiroth and Gleipnir back down the tarmac, where Barret, Tifa and Denzel were talking with Reeve. Barret acknowledged their approach with a hard glance (for Sephiroth) and an outstretched arm in invitation (for Marlene). Sephiroth paused, lingering at the edge of their conversation circle while Marlene trotted over fearlessly for a hug. "Papa," she blurted without preamble, "Seph says I can ride his chocobo if you say it's okay, so can I? Please?"

She was turning on the charm full-blast, all wide eyes and bouncing a little where she stood even with the weight of Barret's arm on her shoulder. Barret gave Sephiroth another look, this one more arch than censorious. "Wouldn't you rather have a piggyback ride from your Papa, darlin'?"

 _"Papa."_ Marlene frowned. "I'm not five anymore, I'm too old for piggyback rides!"

"Um." Barret scratched the back of his head sheepishly, glancing at Tifa for backup - Tifa, merciless woman that she was, simply arched an eyebrow in response. Fortunately, Marlene was already distracted, having zeroed in on Denzel lingering between Reeve and Tifa.

"Come meet Seph's chocobo," she enthused, grabbing Denzel's hand and towing him. "He's so cool!"

Denzel was game enough, at first, but at his first glimpse of Gleipnir the boy skidded to a halt. "It's _huge,_ " he blurted.

"I know, isn't he great?" Marlene beamed.

"Uh..."

Denzel was eyeing Gleipnir like he was a Levrikon. Sephiroth sensed it was time for him to intervene. "Marlene, don't force him if he doesn't want to," he said, and Marlene gave him a baffled look, like she'd had no intention of forcing him, what was Sephiroth talking about? She turned to peer into Denzel's face, taking in her friend's uncomfortable wiggle for the first time.

"Denz... you're not afraid of chocobos, are you?" she asked slowly.

Denzel flushed. "I am not!"

"O- _kay,"_ Tifa announced, placing one hand on Denzel's shoulder and moving in between him and Marlene before this could get out of control. "Reeve, if you're staying, you're welcome to come have dinner with us, but it's my day off and I'm not cooking, so it'll just be sandwiches."

"Actually, I've been meaning to try that new Wutaian place on Ivalice Square," Reeve offered. "Why don't you all join me? My treat."

"Showoff," Barret muttered, but he was grinning, and Marlene was lighting up, her worry over Denzel pushed aside at the prospect. She reached up and grasped Barret's elbow just above the conjunction of flesh and metal, tugging at him eagerly.

"Can we canwecanwe pleeeaaaase?" she chirped, and Barret laughed and swept her up in his arms.

"Guess I can see my way to dinner on Reeve's dime," he confessed, touching noses with his daughter. "And Cloud's not gonna say no, bottomless pit that he is."

"Dibs on sitting next to Sephiroth," Denzel volunteered, and Sephiroth, still trying to process how he'd almost maybe started a fight between two nine-year-olds and needed to make sure he _never did that again, dammit S_ , straightened in shock as all eyes turned to him. Well, Tifa and Barret and Marlene looked at him - Denzel was studying his shoes and Reeve was (to Sephiroth's surprise in several directions) favoring Denzel with a fond smile.

"Dibs on the other side!" Marlene piped up while Sephiroth was searching desperately for a way to say _I'm not invited, of course not._

Barret huffed, and Sephiroth had enough time to think _finally, someone with sense_ before he replied, "Well, guess that's the seatin' order settled. Go put your bird up, General, and we'll go pick up Cloud."

_Wait - what?_

"Sounds good to me," Tifa said cheerfully. "I don't have to cook and Cloud doesn't have to do the dishes."

_But I - in a restaurant - how can you-_

"Yay!" Marlene wrapped her arms around Barret's neck and hugged him tight. "Can we have ice cream, Papa?"

"We don't even know if they have ice cream," Barret protested, grinning and generally not looking like the stern papa whatsoever.

"If they don't, I'm sure we can find it somewhere else," Reeve volunteered.

"Stop bribin' my baby girl, Reeve."

_...how can you want me there?_

The others began to filter away, Denzel hanging onto Tifa's and Reeve's hands, Marlene still settled comfortably in Barret's arms. Sephiroth struggled between exhausted panic and exhausted acceptance, until Gleipnir tugged impatiently at him and Sephiroth made himself move.

"I suppose it would be childish to feign illness," he muttered as they went, and Gleipnir nibbled his fringe. It didn't solve his immediate problem, but the effort was appreciated.

*

The Emperor's Wok had semi-private sections for large parties, which made life bearable, but only just. He still had to brave the noisy, busy main dining room in order to get food. ..."Food" being a relative term.

"That is not Wutaian food," he muttered, eyeing the various offerings steaming under the hot lights at the buffet line. "Unless the cuisine has changed drastically in the past decade, that is not Wutaian food."

"The Gongolan section isn't really Gongolan either." Cloud was at his shoulder, giving him an amused look from under his fringe. "Nobody goes to an all-you-can-eat buffet for authenticity."

"Then what do they come here for?"

Cloud did a double-take then, craning his neck to stare directly into Sephiroth's eyes with an air of incredulity. Sephiroth shifted grumpily under the scrutiny. "You... really aren't familiar with this," Cloud realized, "are you?"

"I don't enjoy looking stupid in public, so no."

"Geez." Cloud rubbed his neck. "Okay, look, just - stick with me."

Cloud handed him a plate - an unpleasantly warm plate - and led him through the unfamiliar territory of the buffet. Sephiroth eyed the oil-glossy stews and fried meats with suspicion, eschewing even the fried rice Cloud shoveled onto his plate in favor of plain white rice. Steamed vegetables and tofu - 'Da Chao's Delight,' apparently - followed, and at Cloud's urging he added two spring rolls. The rest of the time he just followed Cloud, watching with mystified eyes as the younger man chose two different saucy meat dishes to pour over his fried rice and finished the meal with a small selection of fried finger food.

"If you don't take a wonton, the kids are gonna give you theirs," he warned. Sephiroth groaned and took the crisp-edged dough package Cloud offered, and allowed his guide to lead him back to their table.

His guardian wonton, as it turned out, was no protection against being flanked by well-meaning nine-year-olds. Marlene and Denzel stared with dismay at the colorless dinner their large and awkward friend had chosen as Sephiroth sat down between them, and Denzel asked, "Is that all you're eating?"

"Denz," Tifa warned, but it was too late - Marlene and Denzel were exchanging significant looks, alarming in their mutual determination. Sephiroth sent an unthinking, wordless prayer to Aeris and Zack - but on second thought, the Lifestream's gods of mischief and kindness were perhaps the wrong choice of patron in this situation.

For the rest of dinner, bits of saucy chicken, curried vegetables and other offerings from Marlene and Denzel's brightly-colored plates found their way onto Sephiroth's plate - an unprovoked tresspass over the borders of the Kingdom of the Bland. Sephiroth's best efforts to patrol his borders came to naught: every time he'd fend off one youngster with a mushroom, the other would take advantage of his distraction with a piece of red-sauced chicken. Sephiroth found himself building two rice ramparts to halt the invading forces in between bites of cabbage and tofu, which managed the situation somewhat, but while redeploying his spring-roll sentries, Marlene unleashed her ultimate weapon and bounced a drippy bit of pineapple into Sephiroth's defensive bulwark, collapsing it at last.

Sephiroth blinked at the ruin of his defensive line. "Pineapple?" he demanded. "Really? That is against the rules of warfare, young lady."

Next to Marlene - who was grinning innocently - Barret dissolved into sputters of laughter, head down over his plate of General Godo's. Denzel destroyed Sephiroth's remaining bulwark with a sneaky forkful of noodles, and now Tifa was laughing, leaning back in her chair. Cloud had long since borrowed a notepad from Reeve and was _scoring_ them, just to rub salt in the wound. Even Reeve was smiling.

"All right, all right," he sighed. "I surrender. I never had a chance." Denzel and Marlene cheered, claiming an arm each to hug in celebration of their victory.

Sephiroth was still ambivalent about most of the strange dishes masquerading as Wutaian that had invaded his plate, but sweet and sour chicken turned out to be pretty good. And how had he ended up with _four_ wontons?

*

Cloud climbed the ladder to the church's roof with two containers of last night's steak and ale pie. "An hour later you're hungry again, right?" he observed wryly, and Sephiroth stared at him blankly.

He _was_ hungry, though, so he accepted the offering of food. For a while they ate in silence, the world's strangest after-dinner dinner party: the grateful murderer and the man who brought him to what little justice was possible, eating food cooked by a woman whose father had been one of Sephiroth's first victims. Did this mean Cloud and Tifa had officially forgiven him?

Cloud poked at his pie with his fork. "So... you didn't go to too many restaurants?" he ventured.

Sephiroth blinked, his brain failing to switch gears gracefully. "...not like that," he answered quietly. "Not where you get to serve yourself." At Cloud's surprised look, Sephiroth clarified, "Shinra functions would sometimes take place at star-reviewed restaurants, like The Hilde Garde or Viera."

Cloud's eyebrows shot up - of course he would have heard of them, you couldn't live in Midgar for any significant length of time without hearing about its most famous - and most expensive - restaurants. "So, Emperor's Wok was a step down for you," he ventured.

"No, not at all. I hated those places." The words came out as more of a snap than Sephiroth intended; he paused, swallowing hard, but the words wouldn't stay behind his teeth. "I was on display all the time. If I made the slightest error in my table manners I knew I would pay for it for a week after, and - and there was never enough food but I wasn't permitted to ask for more." The speech exhausted him and he shoveled another bite of cold meat pie in his mouth as Cloud stared at him.

"...um," he managed. "Wow. Sorry. I guess I hit a sore point."

Sephiroth felt a laugh bubbling up. "It feels monstrous to still feel resentful when I obliterated both places with a demon space rock."

The laugh became impossible to hide when Cloud snorted. "Yeah, maybe a little."

Sephiroth buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as the laughing fit passed. The moment was short, and at the end Sephiroth felt even more awkward than usual, but Cloud was lounging back on one elbow, his face faintly lit by the glow of his eyes.

"So, you seemed to get along with Barret pretty well," he observed, and Sephiroth nearly dropped his fork.

 _"That_ was getting along? I was sure he hated me."

Cloud made a back-and-forth motion with his hand. "I mean - he's never gonna be your biggest fan. But Marlene likes you, and Marlene's his sun, moon and stars, so..." He shrugged. "I guess it's weird, him and me, but he's probably my best friend outside of Tifa. Not that that's saying much," he added.

"I think it says a lot," Sephiroth answered honestly, and now it was Cloud's turn to look surprised. "He trusts you with his daughter, even around me. And you trust his judgment of me. That's just the impression I get from a day of observation, but it's..."

Cloud shrugged again, embarrassed, as Sephiroth fell silent. _It reminds me of the SOLDIERs_ was what Sephiroth wanted to say, but the words would not emerge.

"...well, anyway," Cloud muttered, and Sephiroth thought maybe there was a hint of unspoken 'let's not get any closer to uncomfortable topics' in there. "I actually wanted to pick your brain about that lab, but I'm too damn tired to listen. Can we talk tomorrow afternoon? ...or, no," he corrected himself with a wince, "I've got to cover for Tifa while she's at that new class. Evening?"

"I'll be here," Sephiroth promised, though he didn't know what he could tell Cloud that he hadn't already told Reeve.

"Okay. ...okay." Cloud nodded firmly and stood, gathering up the dishes. "...night, Sephiroth."

Sephiroth waited until Cloud was halfway down the ladder before he murmured his answer. "...good night, Cloud."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivalice, Hilda Garde and Viera are FF references. The Emperor's Wok is an actual restaurant my family would go to whenever we visited my grandparents (who lived several states away from us). The food there is actually pretty good, Seph was just exhausted and dehydrated and not at his best at the time.
> 
> Chapter 10 progress: 30% done. Ish.


	11. Chapter 10: Blue Dolphin Bar & Grill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions must be made. Plans must be implemented. And nails must be painted. (The glitter is a bonus.)

_He is strapped down to Hojo's lab table again, the straps chafing his chest with every breath, but this time something is different: the wolf stands over him, growling into the dark._

_"Zack?" he asks._

_The growl halts. Zack lowers his muzzle, noses at his chin and licks his cheek._ You'll be fine now, I'm here - _the message is as clear as if he'd spoken aloud. Sephiroth relaxes, even as his skin tingles with the knowledge that Zack wasn't growling at nothing._

_"He's still here, isn't he?" Sephiroth whispers. "Hojo."_

_Zack starts growling again, crouching over Sephiroth in clear possessiveness. Sephiroth focuses on the brindle of Zack's fur, not letting his gaze drift aside for fear he'll catch a glimpse of round-rimmed glasses reflecting green from a Mako syringe._ If I don't look, he's not there. _It's a child's logic, and Sephiroth hasn't been a child since Professor Gast disappeared - but as Zack lies down over him, his warning rumbling through Sephiroth's bones, he clings to that fragile hope of safety._

*

Sephiroth slept well into midmorning and woke feeling far more prepared to deal with the world. Overnight a bank of storm clouds had swept in from the sea, and the sky was heavy and dark with them. Sephiroth's first thought was for Gleipnir - he was cooped up in the travel stables attached to Edge's airship dock now, and he needed to be exercised. They'd better do that before the storm broke.

Tifa's bar was within sight, a little over two blocks away, but leaving the church without an express order felt wrong. Sephiroth stuffed his hair under his hat and jacket, told himself he was being ridiculous, and pushed the door open.

The hissed voices reached him only three steps away from the church. _"Look - there he is! That has to be him!"_

_"Get a picture, quick-"_

Even in whispers, the mounting excitement in those voices tugged at a thread of memory. _Celebrity spotters._ He quickened his pace. Whether they were fans or detractors of the Silver General, their presence was unwelcome, and Sephiroth had no intention of leading them straight to Tifa. He turned abruptly, striding down a side street chosen completely at random, shoulders hunched and posture bent to try to make himself look smaller than he was. Sometimes - not always - that had worked, back in Midgar.

The side street led him into a long stretch of houses, the shabby patchwork kind that had either survived Meteorfall or had been reconstructed from the resultant detritus, and Sephiroth hurried to find his way out of it, knowing that a stranger walking quickly would attract more attention here than anywhere else. 

_"Where do you think he's headed?"_

_"I can't tell, maybe he's just taking a walk."_

_"Pfft, people like_ him _don't just 'take a walk,' man."_

The whispering voices refused to fade, and Sephiroth couldn't help but think their owners very bold, following him down a street that offered few places to hide. He didn't dare turn his head to confront them, though, so perhaps their strategy was the right one. He chose another random street and this time was rewarded with the sight of a busy open-air market.

Even with his face half-obscured by his jacket and hat, people tended to get out of Sephiroth's way when they saw him coming. It was depressingly impossible to lose himself in the crowd like an ordinary person, and the celebrity-chasers' voices had disappeared into the chatter of the market like raindrops into a lake. Sephiroth stepped under the awning of a coffee shop to take advantage of the shade and catch his breath, and also to observe the crowd.

The crowd was much like every other crowd he'd ever been on the fringes of while not dressed in his Shinra-issue leathers. He wasn't ignored - a small child did a double-take when she spotted him, her mouth agape, before being tugged away by her caretaker - but no 'Demon of Wutai' or 'Great Sephiroth' reached his ears, and customers coming in and out of the coffee shop allowed him to loiter there without challenging him. A girl in an apron bussed the pair of outdoor tables with nothing more than a nervous smile in his direction. A group of teenagers clustered across the street between a junk tent and a leatherworker's stall, alternately obscured and revealed by the passing crowd. As he regarded them, one of them looked straight at him, startled, and turned away swiftly, his hands fluttering in abortive little birdlike gestures. The energy of the small group increased instantly, the other three boys unable to resist stealing glimpses of their own at him.

_Time to go._ Chagrined by how easily his pursuers had kept up with him, Sephiroth straightened casually and made his way into the coffee shop. _At least I know their faces now._ "Excuse me," he asked the nearest employee, "do you have a public restroom?"

"Uh, yeah, right back there."

"Thank you." Sephiroth headed for the door the young man indicated. It was a single-occupant room, cramped but clean, and to his relief there was a window set high over the commode. Sephiroth tried to gently encourage the lock to give way for him, but after a moment's frustrated rattling the lock broke in his hands. Gentleness continued to elude him.

But never mind - this was his way out. He pushed the window open and wormed his way out, ascending to the coffee shop's roof rather than risk the ground again. The next roof over crowded close to the coffee shop's edge, and Sephiroth cleared the gap with one long stride and kept going.

Three roofs down, he heard a small commotion as his pursuers spilled out of the coffee shop. "I saw him go in," one of them was declaiming, "you all saw it, right? I'm not crazy?"

Sephiroth smirked to himself. No, they weren't crazy, and maybe they'd eventually figure out how he made his escape, but now they'd never make the connection between Sephiroth and Tifa's bar. Crouching low to minimize his silhouette, Sephiroth snuck away rooftop by rooftop.

*

Just as Sephiroth reached the back entrance to the _Blue Dolphin Bar & Grill_, the heavens opened up.

Sephiroth was drenched in an instant. Glaring up at the sky as it deluged down with rain, he huddled against the back wall and waited - if he was lucky it would stop, or at least ease up, soon. Then he could go get Gleipnir, exercise him, and return to the church to drip dry. That was his best-case scenario, of course - worst cases included the rain _not_ letting up, and having to either leave Gleipnir unexercised or having to ride a grumpy wet bird. That Gleipnir would have to carry a grumpy wet rider seemed unavoidable. He was just making up his mind to get on with it when the door swung open, nearly whacking him in the nose.

"What the - _Sephiroth!?"_

Sephiroth slowly pushed the door away from his face. Tifa stood before him in flip-flops and a raincoat draped over her shoulders, giving him a glare that promised another punch in the gut. "I was just leaving," Sephiroth offered weakly.

"What are you doing here?" Tifa demanded.

"I wanted to walk my chocobo-"

"In _this?"_

"Of course not in this. It started pouring just as I got here. I just wanted to - to let you know where I was." Sephiroth winced and dropped his gaze, feeling like a specimen under Tifa's eyes and not wanting to give voice to the feeling by saying _to ask permission._ "I'll just - go back to the church," he halted. "And wait for it to stop."

Tifa turned her glare up to the sky. The rain failed to be cowed. "Look-" Tifa started, then halted again, her hands flexing with indecision. "...come help me carry some stuff in from the smokehouse," she said at last, "and you can wait out the rain inside."

Sephiroth bit back a 'really?', wisely. "Yes miss."

Tifa had him carry in a ham from the smokehouse, the future star of the _Blue Dolphin_ 's soup of the day, and made him strip off his waterlogged boots and jacket in the mud room. As he slid his feet free of his boots and lined them up neatly by the door, he heard her voice float back to him: "Sephiroth's here."

"What's he want?" Barret's voice, guarded in tone but not particularly aggressive.

"Nothing, just got caught in the storm."

Sephiroth padded into the kitchen in his sock feet, feeling thoroughly foolish. Tifa waved him through, already carving off thick slices off the ham; a pot bubbled away on the stove. Sephiroth followed her direction and found himself in a stairwell, with a small shadowed figure at the top waving to him.

"Come on up," Denzel invited, and so Sephiroth did.

The second floor of the _Blue Dolphin_ was where Cloud, Tifa and their small wards lived. Denzel led Sephiroth through a smaller kitchenette into a broader room lined with sofas and squashy cushions. Reeve lounged on one of those cushions in the corner, PHS to his ear and pen in his mouth as he shuffled through an overfull binder of papers; Barret sat on the couch, patiently braiding Marlene's hair as Marlene hunched over a workbook. "Hi, Seph," she greeted without looking up.

_So this is what normal looks like._ "Hello," he answered. "What are you working on?"

"Ecology homework." Marlene paused, made a face at her workbook, and grabbed for an eraser. "There's a lot of math."

"Marlene's better at math than me," Denzel confided, patting Sephiroth's arm as he passed.

"Yeah, but I still don't _like_ it."

Denzel flopped down on the cushion next to Reeve's and gave Sephiroth an expectant look. There were other cushions in Reeve's corner, but Sephiroth didn't take any of them, sitting on the floor next to him instead with his legs folded neatly under him. "Don't you have to work on your project too?" Sephiroth asked.

"Yep. Want to see?" Denzel turned, frowned, turned again in a haphazard search pattern. "Reeve, did you see where I left my workbook?"

"No, it's monsoon season there. We'll have to wait a couple of months at least before we can break ground." With that apparent non sequiter, Reeve leaned over, stuck his hand under Denzel's cushion and fished out a thin green workbook identical to the one Marlene had her nose in.

"Thanks," Denzel said, taking the book from him.

Reeve nodded in response. "Well, shipping concrete to Mideel is a separate issue."

Sephiroth lifted an eyebrow at Denzel in silent query. Denzel shrugged, clearly categorizing whatever Reeve was up to as 'grownup stuff,' and leaned over to flip his notebook open where Sephiroth could easily see its contents.

"Calculating monster populations?" he asked, scanning the figures quickly.

"The point of the project is to manage a wild chocobo population." Denzel flipped backwards, showing Sephiroth the goals printed in the front of the book. "So we have to think about monsters that prey on chocobos, their food supply, climate... Marlene chose Kalm for her flock's location. I chose Mideel."

"That's quite a project," Sephiroth marveled. "Is it complicated?"

"The book breaks it down into steps for us. And it's not due for another week, anyway." Denzel took the book back, flipped back to where he'd left off.

Sephiroth watched over Denzel's shoulder. This approach to math and science education was different than what he'd been exposed to as a boy: his education had been largely about memorization and performing to time limits. Had education changed so much since he was small? Or had his experience been atypical? "Even so, I'm impressed," he murmured, and Denzel grinned into the workbook.

Denzel explained what he was doing as he worked, ultimately to his own benefit more than Sephiroth's, but Sephiroth enjoyed listening anyway. The rain pattered against the windows - now that he wasn't out in it, it was a relaxing counterpoint to Denzel's voice and Marlene's occasional comments and the smell of warm food beginning to rise from the ground floor. Reeve ended his call and simply lounged quietly nearby, his pen scratching steadily against a seemingly endless stack of paper. Barret finished braiding Marlene's hair - two equal plaits on either side - and lounged back on the couch to let Marlene claim his lap. Sephiroth, for his part, found himself leaning against a nearby cushion as he counted chocobo tracks with Denzel, and for once felt no need to fear he was doing something wrong.

Below, the door opened, letting in a cool breeze and the smell of rain. Closed again, on Tifa's voice: "Welcome back, Cloud."

"Sorry I'm late." Cloud's voice was warm. "Got caught up in a demonstration."

Sephiroth only realized he'd straightened when Denzel nudged him. "Sorry," he said. "I was distracted. Cloud's back. I should probably go."

"Nooo, the rain hasn't stopped yet." Denzel hooked his arm around Seph's in protest. "And you're still damp. You have to stay!"

"But," Sephiroth protested weakly, as Reeve began to shuffle his papers into some kind of order and Barret gently shooed Marlene off his lap.

"Might as well stay. Have some soup," the latter offered offhandedly, and that surprised Sephiroth enough to shut his mouth as Cloud and Tifa appeared at the doorway to the kitchenette. "Hey, 'bout time," Barret greeted them.

Cloud flashed a half-smile his way, already bending to accept Marlene's offer of a hug. "Like you're not hanging around waiting for Tifa's corn chowder."

"Tifa's corn chowder is worth it." Barret stood. "Okay, Marlene, you can take a break from your homework if you want..."

"Yay!"

"Just knock on the door if you need something, all right? We won't be long."

Reeve was heaving himself to his feet, giving Denzel an absent ruffle as he passed. Denzel grinned, still attached to Sephiroth's arm, and Marlene crossed the room as the adults disappeared into the kitchenette to flop into Sephiroth's lap. "Haven't given you a hug yet," she explained cheerfully, and suited actions to words.

Sephiroth returned the hug carefully. "What's going on?" he asked.

Marlene shrugged. "Grownup stuff."

Sephiroth caught a significant look from Cloud as he held the door for Reeve to pass, and understood - this was a council of war. One to which he was not invited, and that was fair, but - was he meant to hover with the children until his orders were issued him? Cloud must know he would be able to hear everything they said as if he were present in the room.

"Wanna play with nail polishes?" Marlene suggested brightly from Sephiroth's lap, and Sephiroth startled.

"Sure!"

Denzel hopped upright and scampered off down the hallway. In the silence left behind, Sephiroth heard Cloud speak. _"So. Scarlet. What do we know?"_

_"This was several months ago, but the last time our agents saw her she was in Edge-"_

_"-dammit, Reeve."_

A moment's pointed silence, during which Denzel returned triumphantly with a plastic case that rattled ominously. "Do you want to get your nails painted too, Seph?" he offered, throwing him a look full of that baffling, irresistible _hope._

"Pleeeeaaase?" Marlene added.

Sephiroth nodded acquiescence and the children lit up. As Denzel spilled the brightly-colored bottles over the carpet and started to sort through them with Marlene, Sephiroth quietly patted himself on the back for his flawless plan. A quiet activity with the children would allow him to listen in on the war council without seeming too suspicious, and Tifa and Cloud would be pleased with him for engaging with them while the adults were otherwise occupied. Perhaps even Barret would agree.

A thunk drew Sephiroth's attention away from the door and his own thoughts. "Uh oh," Denzel muttered, staring at the dropped bottle of nail polish currently leaking bright neon green over the carpet.

Marlene sucked in her breath. "I'll get the polish remover!" she announced, and lit out for the bathroom.

......well. Sephiroth could dream.

_"Our investigations into last week's graffiti incidents have led to a few arrests - teenage boys with too much energy, according to what the chief of police told me."_ Reeve's report continued as Sephiroth helped Marlene and Denzel clean up the mess on the carpet. _"But the individual that tagged the church door - there's a little footage of a possible suspect, from the convenience store a block away. ID is impossible, but... the individual is tall, slim, and walks with a slight limp."_

_"Scarlet didn't-"_ Tifa's voice, as confused as Sephiroth felt.

_"She does now."_

Reeve's answer was solemn as stone, and Tifa made a little 'oh' noise. _The grave injuries Reeve spoke of,_ Sephiroth realized, keeping his head bent down over Denzel's hand as he meticulously striped cobalt-blue paint over the nail. _They must have left Scarlet_ \- she had never been 'Director Helsdottir' to Sephiroth or any of the other executives, to his knowledge, and even her direct subordinates had called her 'Miss Scarlet' - _with lasting physical damage._

_"...she knows about him,"_ Cloud muttered, and Sephiroth didn't have to wonder which 'him' Cloud was referring to. _"If that really was Scarlet..."_

_"Calling him out, maybe."_ Barret's voice, low and grim. _"Bet she's just spoilin' to do some damage, to him or to you through him."_

_"I was thinking along the same lines."_ Paper rustled and tapped on the table, a sound Sephiroth knew from the board meetings he'd had to attend. The image of Reeve tapping his reports on the long table to straighten them swam before his eyes, all too vivid. _"One of the young men the police arrested mentioned a few message boards on the datanet as where he got the idea. Chatter on those boards - well, it's the usual teenage bluster, but something about a few of the posts makes me think someone is trying to direct all that energy Sephiroth's way."_

_"As someone to attack, or someone to emulate?"_ Tifa wanted to know.

_"As a symbol to rally around."_

Sephiroth paused as his stomach knotted. "Seph?" Marlene asked, her small hand steady and trusting in his.

His paintbrush was beginning to drip pink. "Oh," he murmured, and quickly swiped it on her index nail. "Sorry, I let my mind wander." Marlene dimpled at him and leaned forward to gently bump his forehead with hers, her other hand currently held by Denzel with the yellow polish.

_"None of this is actionable,"_ Reeve was saying as they worked. _"Understand? We have no reason to go after her, nothing the police will accept as evidence against her. I can't even say for certain that any of this is her doing. We could be chasing after the wrong chocobo entirely."_

_"You're the one who brought her up,"_ Barret accused.

_"...fair point,"_ Reeve admitted. _"I have my own biases. It_ would _be just like her to work through public opinion."_ Another tap-tap of papers and a sigh. _"Even so, all we can do beyond what we're already doing is increase security in the area and be watchful. Tifa and Cloud's classes are probably our best asset in terms of outreach."_

_"But not our only asset."_ There was a grin in Barret's voice. _"I still got my contacts here. I'm gonna ask around, see if people've seen something they won't tell the police."_

_"That would be helpful, Barret, thank you."_

_"What about Sephiroth?"_ Tifa asked. _"The longer he stays in Edge the worse this is going to get."_

Sephiroth's shoulders knotted at the question. _"It won't do us any favors if he disappears either,"_ Reeve answered. _"I think it's best if he is visible, and visibly allied with the WRO and you and Cloud."_

Cloud's voice was quiet and rough with discontent. _"We can't just throw him out there. The way he is now, he's - he can't. With people. He's worse than I am."_

_"Sephiroth was never particularly good at dealing with the public before either,"_ Reeve informed him dryly, as Sephiroth tried to take deep breaths past the mortified knot in his throat. _"I'm not about to make him deliver a public address, I promise, I have more sense than that. I just think it's time to sweep the rumor mill clean a bit."_

_"Is that why you suggested dinner out yesterday?"_

_"It was a side benefit."_

Sephiroth's stomach turned again - had he been on display after all? - and he struggled to school his features as Marlene patted his arm. "I think our nails are dry enough," she reported hopefully. "Want to pick out your colors?"

"Colors - oh." Nail polish colors. Sephiroth gratefully turned to the distraction, sorting through the chaotic spill of nail polish bottles, but he couldn't shut out the voices in the next room.

_"That does bring up something else, though - whatever we decide about him, he can't stay in the church anymore."_

_Exiling me from the church?_ Sephiroth's fingers closed around a bottle without looking at the color. "Purple?" Denzel queried.

"I think it's nice." Marlene took the bottle and held it up: a deep, soft violet color. "It's a pretty color to go with his eyes. How about this and the glitter?"

Sephiroth lacked the wherewithal to say no to the glitter - Cloud's voice was drawing his attention away again. _"It's the safest place in the city,"_ he was arguing.

_"Cloud, I know that place is important to you."_ Reeve's voice was measured, calm. Reasonable. _"But..."_

_"...don't, Reeve."_

_"...It's just a building."_

_No it isn't._ Sephiroth was sure Cloud was saying the same thing with that mulish silence. Marlene handed the bottle of violet polish to Denzel, who busied himself with Sephiroth's other hand while Marlene blew gently on her handiwork.

_"If you're not comfortable having him stay here with you, I'll help you find a place nearby - Cloud, look at me. It's not fair to him. If he's staying in Edge long-term, he deserves someplace where he doesn't have to cross the street to the café to use the restroom."_

There was a slow, frustrated sigh. _"I know. The church was always supposed to be a temporary thing until we - I don't know - figured him out."_

_"...hm. And have you?"_

_"...I have no idea."_

Sephiroth wondered why hearing that should make his gut knot up and his eyes sting, but it was only natural in the end - Cloud, for all that Hojo had done to him, was still human. Sephiroth never had been.

"Okay," Denzel announced, patting the back of Sephiroth's hand. His nails shone wetly, soft violet with a crystal shimmer over the top. "I think that's done. Just keep your hands still until it dries, okay?"

_Am I truly so incomprehensible?_

Denzel's eyes filled with sympathy, and Sephiroth realized with a lurch that he'd spoken aloud. _Control, what the hell happened to my control-!_ but then Marlene was wiggling determinedly under his arm for a hug, and Sephiroth had to lift his arm to let her or risk mussing the polish the two of them had so diligently applied.

"You're _our Seph,"_ Marlene told him in answer to the question he hadn't meant to ask, in a tone that brooked no argument whatsoever.

"Yeah." Denzel, cuddling up under Sephiroth's other arm. "Don't let anyone tell you different. Or we'll kick 'em in the shins."

"Please don't, you'll get in trouble again," Sephiroth protested, but the admonition lost all authority when a laugh escaped him mid-sentence. He hugged both of the children closer, burying his prickling-hot face in their hair.

That was how the grownups found them - Sephiroth knew the moment they opened the door, but Marlene and Denzel popped up to frown disapprovingly at the first _splerk_ from Barret. To his credit, Barret swallowed further mirth and pretended the noise had come from Reeve, who serenely glided by the three of them as though the sight of the Demon General cuddling two small children was nothing he hadn't seen before.

Cloud didn't ignore them, by contrast. He sat down on the floor across from Sephiroth, and both children immediately swarmed him for hugs. "Hey, you two," he greeted, then, "...why is the carpet damp?"

"Ummm." Marlene and Denzel glanced back pleadingly at Sephiroth for help. Sephiroth did the only thing he could think to do.

"I was still damp from the rain when I sat down, Cloud," he said, absolutely straightfaced. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

One pale eyebrow lifted. "...it's raining acetone today?"

"...um."

Sephiroth directed an apologetic look at Marlene and Denzel, but the two of them were giggling, amused rather than disappointed by his failed attempt. Cloud shook his head at all three of them. "Nice nails," he added, his glowing eyes crinkling at the edges with amusement.

Marlene beamed and held her hands out for him to admire. "Seph helped," she informed him. "Want us to paint your nails too?"

"...sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sorry for the lateness, guys. Updates will probably continue to be slow for the next few months.  
> \- If Scarlet has a last name in canon, I couldn't find it, so I made one up.  
> \- Of course Tifa has a smokehouse. Doesn't everyone?


	12. Chapter 11: Outskirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting leaves Sephiroth even more off balance than he usually is. (Alternately: hey, look, it's Gleipnir.)

Sephiroth was invited to stay for lunch - as Barret had promised, Tifa's chowder was worth waiting for - and after that the Dolphin's bar staff started to arrive downstairs to begin their prep work. "All right, I'm off," Tifa announced, slinging a black duffel bag over her shoulder. "Marcus is in charge downstairs, but if there's any trouble, call me."

Sephiroth looked between Tifa and Cloud, faintly mystified. His lap had been thoroughly colonized by Marlene and Denzel, but if Tifa was leaving then surely his welcome had run out. "Why..." escaped him, and he clamped down on the rest of the question with a flare of embarrassment as Tifa turned his way.

"...am I leaving the bar just as it's getting ready to open?" she guessed.

"...forgive me. I don't know anything about running a bar." Sephiroth directed the apology to his knees, despite Marlene and Denzel sitting on them casting him worried looks.

Tifa rolled her eyes cheerfully. "Neither does Cloud, which is why my shift supervisor's in charge. He's just here in case of emergencies."

"I'm the bouncer," Cloud agreed as Sephiroth blinked in befuddlement. "And sometimes the dish boy."

"-and I've somehow been talked into teaching a martial arts class to teenagers and Saturday afternoon's the only time that works with their school schedules and all." Tifa tilted her head a fraction at him. "Okay?"

_Okay? Is she asking my permission?_ "...okay," he repeated tentatively, and that appeared to be the right answer, because Tifa actually _smiled._

As she headed downstairs, calling for Marcus, Reeve stood and stretched. "I should head out too," he informed them. "I'll call with an update tomorrow sometime."

Sephiroth drew in a breath. "I'll follow you out," he said, trying not to make it sound like an announcement or a command. "Gleipnir must be going spare waiting for me," he added, hoping the mention of his inoffensive fluffball of a chocobo would soften his words. It seemed to work - he got a grin from Barret and a muffled chortle from Cloud, and even the children wriggled off his lap with a minimum of reluctance.

"You wanna come over for lunch again tomorrow?" Denzel asked, squeezing his hand hopefully.

"We'll see." _I hadn't intended to come over for lunch this time._

Tifa let them out the back door, calling a few last-minute instructions to the supervisor over her shoulder. Her path took her closer to the city's inner ring, the opposite direction from the airship dock, so she left them with a casual wave and an unreadable look Sephiroth's way. Sephiroth chose to interpret it as a warning; it seemed safest.

"You know, there are caretakers at the dock stables," Reeve brought up thoughtfully as Tifa turned a corner and was lost to sight.

"I want to take care of my chocobo," Sephiroth answered flatly, and Reeve lifted his eyebrows but let it drop.

He did not, however, allow Sephiroth to walk a block behind him as he'd planned. Despite Sephiroth's best efforts to let Reeve pull ahead without either man having to mention it, Reeve wouldn't quit matching his stride, and even met Sephiroth's frustrated look with another mild eyebrow-lift. "We should walk together," Reeve explained reasonably. "It will reinforce the message that you're our ally."

"Also, not insane or murderous," Sephiroth pointed out, and Reeve's face briefly creased in unwilling agreement. "Reeve, I don't really understand your purpose. I went to a great deal of trouble this morning to keep people from making a connection between myself and Tifa's bar. The last thing I want is for her or Cloud or the children to become targets because of me, yet you seem bent on doing exactly that."

Reeve paused, peering at him until Sephiroth itched with the urge to avert his gaze. "...you really are worried about them," he mused.

"And you're not?"

"No - well, yes, but I think you're looking at this the wrong way." Reeve started walking again, and Sephiroth had no choice but to keep up if he wanted to hear the Director's explanation. "Most people don't know the details of what happened five years ago, but they know that Cloud and Tifa were instrumental in saving the world. They're internationally famous - they're going to be the targets of attention for the rest of their lives."

"All the more reason they shouldn't be associated with me!" Sephiroth argued.

"All the more reason," Reeve corrected gently, "that you should not be hidden away." He paused, letting Sephiroth marinate in agitated silence. "I'm sure you know by now that your part in the events of five years ago-"

"I wish you'd just say Meteor."

Reeve pulled a frown. "Fine. Your part in the Meteor event is less common knowledge than Cloud's and Tifa's. Most know you were involved, but..." His shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. "The Silver General had ardent fans and virulent detractors, as I'm sure you recall. What people believe is largely reflective of their pre-Meteor attitudes toward Shinra."

"And you simply... let them believe what they wish, rather than telling the whole truth?"

"Sephiroth," and Reeve held up a hand that was stiff with impatience, "the fact that we are holding a civil conversation right now is proof that none of us _knew_ the whole truth. You returned from death sane and remorseful, when all of us thought you either irrevocably mad or irredeemably evil. If we had let the full scope of what you had done be commonly known, you would have _no_ allies on the planet now."

The snap in Reeve's dark eyes told Sephiroth what Reeve wasn't saying: _I have not forgiven you._ This time Sephiroth really did look away, wondering only now how many of Reeve's direct subordinates had died on his sword. Unbidden the image of uniforms swam before his eyes, from the familiar blue and red of the Shinra military to the sharply-tailored suits of the civilian employees-

_-flash, white stained with red-_

He must have staggered. Reeve had hold of his arm, and Sephiroth made sure he knew where the ground was before pulling away. "...my apologies," he forced out, as stiff and awkward as he felt.

"Does that happen a lot?" Reeve asked, his vehemence of a moment ago tucked away again like a weapon he didn't need. "Was it a dizzy spell?"

"An artifact of having been dead, I think. It's fine." Sephiroth started walking again, hands jammed in his pockets and shoulders hunched, and only realized he was outpacing the Director after an entire block blurred by and he heard Reeve huffing impatiently behind him.

"Slow down, will you?" Reeve's protest was exasperated. "Some of us don't have your long legs."

Sephiroth forced himself to shorten his stride. "...I'm sorry," he forced himself to say.

"It's fine. I should exercise more anyway," Reeve offered, and Sephiroth wasn't sure if that was a joke or not, so he let it pass.

"I meant, I'm sorry for questioning you. I am grateful that you and the others chose not to tarnish my reputation further than you had to."

"Oh. ...well. You're welcome." Reeve paused, getting his breath back. "But you see why I don't want you hidden away, right? You're a polarizing figure on your own, just like Cloud. People will have cause to wonder whether we're - I don't know, using you as a secret assassin. Or if Shinra's moving to retake control. Public perception of you as being your own man - and as an ally of the people who saved the world - will do more to deflect suspicion and fear than letting you become Edge's first cryptid."

Sephiroth reluctantly thought that over. Put that way, Reeve's plan appeared to make sense, not that he had any idea how shaping public opinion actually worked. But... "...I have a request," he murmured.

"What is it?"

"Don't... don't put me on display again without telling me. Like you did last night, at the restaurant."

That actually stymied the older man, though Sephiroth could feel no triumph in it. "...we weren't trying to talk about you behind your back," Reeve offered, in a lower tone than he'd used before. "I promise. We knew you could hear us. It's just-"

"...you weren't comfortable with me," Sephiroth supplied heavily.

"...well, yes. But I really am sorry," Reeve offered, and he did sound sincere. "I didn't think - I didn't realize it would bother you."

"I'm not in the habit of announcing when things bother me." Sephiroth sighed. "...apology accepted. Thank you for hearing me out."

"I forget sometimes not everyone is as mad for politics as I am." Reeve rolled his eyes, gently self-mocking, and Sephiroth felt safe enough to offer a brief smile. "I might ask you to put in public appearances now and then - not anytime soon, mind you - but I promise I won't put you in the spotlight."

"I wonder if even you can guarantee that, Director," Sephiroth sighed.

Reeve chuckled. "Well, the alternative is to go be a hermit somewhere, but I don't recommend that."

"Mmm." Sephiroth wasn't sure he wasn't tempted, even now. He'd been fully prepared to mope about in the City of the Ancients for the rest of his Aeris-given days until chocobo pox and Vincent Valentine, in that order, had entered his life.

Reeve, in any case, filled the silence with plans and observations all the way to the airship docks, and promised Sephiroth's paycheck for the Wolfmeister hunt within the next week. Sephiroth nodded, waited with his arms clasped behind him until Reeve was safely aboard his flagship, and then turned sharply to head to the dock's chocobo stables and attached paddock. It was already late afternoon, and Gleipnir was waiting for him.

The paddock wasn't overly full. A mated pair ignored him utterly, a yearling warbled curiously as he passed through the gate. Most were yellows, and the ones that weren't, Sephiroth was pleased to see weren't dyed - then a familiar wark rose above the din, and Sephiroth forgot all other chocobos in an instant. "Gleipnir," escaped him in a sigh, and against all rules of chocobo discipline he allowed Gleipnir to rush over and practically tackle him for preenings.

The loving roughhousing that followed might have counted as exercise all on its own, but Gleipnir still seemed so energetic by the time they wound down - crest fluffed, eyes bright, shifting on his feet - that looking at him, Sephiroth suddenly felt the weight of the past weeks of (for him) shocking idleness. "Want to go for a walk?" he asked, and Gleipnir trilled in delight and bounced.

Saddled, Gleipnir was no calmer, but he let Sephiroth direct him with an uncanny responsiveness. Sephiroth rode him down the dirt track leading away from the stables and out of the dock complex at a respectful trot, keeping to one side as supply trucks and passenger buggies passed him going the opposite direction. As soon as they were clear, Sephiroth finally gave Gleipnir his head, giving in to their shared urge to run.

The world blurred. Sephiroth bent over Gleipnir's feathered neck, his breath dashed from him as Gleipnir chased down the wind. Gray and brown gave way to green: they were in the sparsely-populated outskirts of Edge now, and there was no need to be cautious. Gleipnir's claws dug into the rocky dirt, flinging up dust behind them, and Sephiroth found himself grinning at the sensation of wind and sunshine and speed.

_Good bird._ Very _good bird._

Not the fastest bird he'd ever ridden, but Gleipnir just plain didn't seem to get tired. Sephiroth finally reined him in when the emergent patches of farmland around Edge - another miracle courtesy of Aeris and the Lifestream - started to give way to the scrubby wildland Sephiroth was more familiar with. It wasn't quite monster territory, but it was close enough that it paid to be wary. Gleipnir was perfectly happy at a trot, warking contentedly to his rider and snatching at roadside weeds when Sephiroth let him.

"You burn through fuel like an airship," Sephiroth informed him, combing affectionately through Gleipnir's soft neck feathers. Gleipnir warbled happily through his mouthful of Midgar golden clover.

He and Gleipnir spotted them at the same time: a trio of low-slung dark shapes against the hazy sandstone cliffs ahead. Gleipnir halted, suddenly a ball of tension under Sephiroth's legs, his crest lifting in warning as the low drone of engines reached them both. Devil Rides, another familiar beast from Midgar-that-was. Sephiroth sat back, eyes narrow against the glare. He had no weapons or Materia, but perhaps he and Gleipnir could chase them off, give them reason to fear coming so close to human territory before they attacked a chocobo or worse, a child.

He gave Gleipnir a speculative glance. He'd never truly tested Gleipnir's resolve against monsters before, but although he was tense he didn't seem fearful. A good sign, for a hunter's mount.

"Come on, Gleipnir," he murmured. "Let's go to work."

At his signal Gleipnir charged, a war cry shrilling from his throat. The Devil Rides revved in alarm and fled.

The tactics of monster hunting came back to Sephiroth in a breathless flood, as though the years between his last mission and now had never passed at all. He harried the monsters with shouts and feinted at their tires if they swerved or slowed. Gleipnir responded to each direction as though he were a hunter's bird already, an extension of Sephiroth's will - or, he amended as Gleipnir struck out with his beak at a Devil Ride that was drifting too close, as though he were an extension of Gleipnir's protective instinct.

They were well into the scrublands now, weaving through cliffs that were threatening to become a ravine. Sephiroth was contemplating ending the chase when a human figure ahead drew his attention, shouting and waving their arms from a clifftop far enough away that a normal human might have had trouble seeing them. The figure gave him a large, exaggerated 'come here!' gesture, and Sephiroth gratefully turned to drive the Devil Rides toward the signaler. This could only be a fellow monster hunter - an armed one, able to deal with the Devil Rides in a more permanent fashion than simply driving them off.

The cliffs did turn into a shallow ravine, one that led into a depression surrounded by cliffs that still held a small gritty pool of stagnant water from the recent rain. It wasn't a place Sephiroth would have wanted to face monsters in on his own right now, as it gave the Devil Rides no choice but to turn and fight. It was, however, the perfect setup for an area-of-effect spell -

_"Roderick, now!"_

-or, he thought, pulling Gleipnir away from the blast radius though they were in no danger, a Limit Break with similar effects.

When the blast wave disippated, the Devil Rides were crumpled against the cliff walls they'd been blown against, quite definitively dead. A red-haired man with a closely-trimmed beard - 'Roderick', presumably - stood in the center of them, fists clenched, ripples of pale red and orange light fading into the ground at his feet. As Sephiroth watched from Gleipnir's back, the man's chest rose in a deep breath.

_"WHOO!_ Still got it! Eat your heart out, WRO!"

Sephiroth and Gleipnir startled at once, but Roderick didn't seem to notice, turning to call up the cliff at his partner. "Moony! What do you think, does that beat Nat and Pinky's record for most monsters killed in a day?"

"Wouldn't count on it!" 'Moony' was grinning, though, a dark braid falling forward over her shoulder as she bent to peer at her partner.

"Eh, you're right. They got lucky, practically tripping over that Levrikon nest." Roderick turned, offering a softened grin to Sephiroth. "Hey, thanks for the assist, friend. I guess you're entitled to one of these beasties if you're after parts or - holy _shit."_

He'd drawn close enough that Sephiroth could see the color of his eyes: blue, lit from within by an unearthly glow. The eyes of a SOLDIER, widening with shock.

"General?" he breathed.

His partner stepped off the cliff as though it were a low curb in Edge, hitting the steep incline below and sliding down to the ground. "Roddy?" she queried as she stood.

"Moony." Roderick's voice was hushed, like he was trying not to scare off a shy woodland creature - or perhaps dispel an apparition. "Moon, get over here. It's the - it's Sephiroth!"

_"What?"_

Gleipnir shifted uneasily under Sephiroth, crest half-lifted as Roderick moved a step closer, hand lifted in -

_-FLASH, frenetic activity and voices and a beardless redhead grinning up at him over the solid spine of a Buster, eyes glowing blue-_

"No, wait!"

-he was fleeing before he even realized he'd turned Gleipnir away, panic in his throat as the SOLDIER's voice chased him back to Edge, to the safety of anonymity.

*

Sephiroth hadn't forgotten he owed Cloud a debriefing, but it was nearly dark before he was calm enough to head home - and before Gleipnir was calm enough to let him. "I owe you a bale of roasted seaweed," Sephiroth promised him as he settled his chocobo in the stable in between Gleipnir's sleeve-chewing and solicitous beaking. "And a bucket of nuts and a run every day and - and a whole flock of receptive hens if that's what you want, but let's focus on one objective at a time."

"Wark," Gleipnir agreed, and finally deigned to stick his beak in his leafy dinner. Sephiroth left him to it, slipping out of the stables and into the lengthening shadows of evening. The knowledge that he'd _run from them_ like a frightened child burned in his gut, but he was still unsettled enough that he kept to those shadows all the way back to the church.

_SOLDIERs. There are SOLDIERs still alive and in operation! ...what do I do now?_

Cloud didn't mention Sephiroth's chance meeting when he came by with dinner and a notebook, and if he noticed that Sephiroth was preoccupied and couldn't keep his thoughts together to save his life, he didn't mention that either. Either he was being gentle - unlikely - or he really didn't know about it. Perhaps he and the SOLDIERs in the wildlands didn't know each other, so they wouldn't think to contact the Hero of the Crisis to exclaim they'd seen the General. Either way, Sephiroth was grateful, and did his best to describe the lab in Corel between bites of corned beef sandwich and a brain that kept circling back around to the same spot like a train on a track: _SOLDIERs alive, SOLDIERs alive._

"Sephiroth?" Cloud prodded, and Sephiroth jerked up - kicking his train of thought into motion again.

"...it's been a strange couple of days," he offered by way of explanation, and it had the benefit of not actually being a lie. "Where were we?"

"Lab." Cloud glanced at the notebook propped in his crossed legs. "Evidence of human experimentation?"

Sephiroth mentally placed himself back in the lab again, looking around carefully. "None," he said slowly. "Tubes notwithstanding."

He saw Cloud grimace. "Kinda glad I didn't see that."

"Mmm." Sephiroth was grateful as well. "Anyway, aside from the tubes, there wasn't really anything that said 'experiment equipment' to me. It seemed more like... offsite storage."

"Under a reactor?" Cloud's nose wrinkled in incredulity.

"Where else? The head of Shinra Science Division had unfettered access to Shinra's reactors to a degree shared by few others on Gaia. He stored-" His throat closed. Sephiroth forced a swallow. "He stored the bulk of Jenova's body in much the same way."

"...yeah, okay." Cloud scratched out 'Jenova' in his notebook, and stared at the word in dim dismay. "...shit. I'll bet you anything he was storing Jenova samples in there."

"That _would_ be the worst case scenario," Sephiroth agreed. "Hopefully the WRO forensic techs will be able to confirm one way or the other soon."

"You say it so calmly," Cloud muttered resentfully.

"I do?" Sephiroth blinked, and got a flat stare in return. "I... apologize," he offered tentatively.

"...nothing to apologize over." Cloud huffed, tapped his pencil restlessly, his gaze resolutely fixed on the church door, nowhere near Sephiroth's general direction.

Which was likely why Cloud sensed them first, though Sephiroth's senses were just as sharp as his. Sephiroth saw the younger man's gaze sharpen and body tense, and immediately directed his attention outside. _Footsteps - breathing - voices, hushed and quickly stifled._ Every stifled giggle and stumble over a pebble screamed that this was a force with no discipline and no training. His fan club had come calling again.

Cloud stood, and waved Sephiroth down when he would have followed. Sephiroth clenched his hands by his thighs, making himself obey, and watched Cloud approach the door in an unconcerned saunter. Just in front of it, he lifted a hand and waited - listening, as Sephiroth was, to the whispered voices as they fluttered and hissed and cohered into a chant: _"One, two, three, now!"_ The door burst open six inches and _thumped_ into Cloud's waiting palm.

"...oh shit," one of them opined.

Sephiroth couldn't see Cloud's face, but could picture the man's narrow glare of displeasure from the tone of his voice. "Can I help you?"

"Um..." Another hiss of whispers, cut off when one enterprising young man piped up, "Is Sephiroth here?"

_Odin wept._

Sephiroth was about to rise, orders or no orders, when Cloud spoke again. "Jack, remember that conversation we had about treating people like tourist attractions?"

"Uh... yeah?"

"Think that might apply to someone like General Sephiroth too?"

"...um."

"You can't keep him from us forever!" another voice blurted.

Cloud actually laughed at that, a sound that was mostly breath. "Paul, there's a giant gaping hole in the roof of this building. Do you honestly think I could keep someone with SOLDIER abilities jailed here?"

"...but."

Cloud huffed again, shaking his head. "Look, I'm not gonna say 'Sephiroth isn't here' or 'Sephiroth isn't back,' because I know you won't believe me. I _am_ going to tell you that you're building him up in your heads into this figure that doesn't even exist, and when that illusion gets shattered it - it'll hurt like hell, okay?" He took a deep breath, Sephiroth twisting in guilty resentment behind him. "If and when General Sephiroth chooses to make it public, you'll know. Until then, stop barging into condemned buildings and stop following people around just because they look like him. You're going to give someone's granny a heart attack at this rate."

"We never!" came the protest.

"Starcup Coffee, this morning," Cloud answered mildly, and there were several indrawn breaths. "Didn't you know the SOLDIER process heightens senses? People with the enhancements can track your scent. Like Guard Hounds." He was smirking now, Sephiroth could hear it. "Have a nice night, boys."

He swung the door shut again with firm finality, but didn't move away from it until their visitors' footsteps faded away. "...right," he said on the end of a sigh. "Where were we?"

Sephiroth dropped his gaze as Cloud turned back toward him again. "...how did you-" he began.

"You left the bathroom door locked when you made your daring escape," was the wry response. "I had to kick it open. Wasn't hard to figure things out from there."

"...ah." Sephiroth winced. "I'll - write them an apology note. Or something."

Cloud chuckled, sinking down onto the nearest intact pew from where Sephiroth sat, crosslegged, on his cot. "I'd like to see their faces when they get that. Anyway, anything else about the lab? Anything that might say who used it last?"

Sephiroth shut his eyes tightly. "...not Hojo," he said slowly, feeling his way through his own thoughts. "Or anyone who was all that familiar with his methods, I think. The samples were disorganized by his standards."

"Well, that's something, I guess," Cloud sighed. "I mean, we killed Hojo good and dead, but I was having visions of a vengeful lab assistant or something."

"A vengeful lab assistant would give us a direction," Sephiroth answered sourly. "Without that all we have is a suspect who may or may not be Scarlet, and who may or may not be responsible for any of this."

Cloud frowned, but he didn't disagree. "...guess all we can do is hope Barret or the WRO turn something up," he admitted. "And keep our ears open in the meantime. Are you going to be okay?"

Sephiroth blinked, surprised enough to actually meet Cloud's eyes. Cloud had a crease between his brows and his jaw was set in a stubbornness so familiar it was _painful_ \- literally, as a flash of white static stabbed through Sephiroth's head - but as he blinked the static away, Cloud's expression didn't change.

_Is he... worried for me?_

"I'll... be fine," he answered slowly, and Cloud's brow mercifully uncreased. "Those young men shouldn't be back tonight."

"Bar the door just in case," Cloud ordered, and Sephiroth nodded. "...hate to say it," the younger man added in a lower tone, "but Reeve's right. I'm sure you can camp out here longer than he thinks, but when winter sets in you're going to be miserable in here. There _is_ a hole in the roof."

"I've slept in worse conditions for longer," Sephiroth protested, but Cloud, his mind apparently already made up, stood and collected their dishes.

"We'll figure something out," Cloud assured him. "Night, Sephiroth."

And that, it seemed, was the end of it. Sephiroth murmured 'good night' to Cloud's retreating back, and got up to set the bar on the door after Cloud had exited. The motions were familiar by now, as familiar as the scent of lilies and the starlight shining through the hole in the roof, sensations that sometimes followed him into the dreams where Aeris and Zack met him.

He was going to miss this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Holiday Season is here! And I work in retail! :DDD ...yeah, this is probably going to be my last chapter until next year. *thud* So, uh, consider this the end of Act 1, I guess. See you in 2017, assuming the world doesn't end.


	13. Chapter 12: Junker District

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth opens the Quest menu, selects the one marked "From Zack" and clicks OK. He does not bother to visit the Equip menu first.

"Seph, is fighting monsters fun?"

Sephiroth paused mid-sweep to contemplate the question. Marlene was kneeling backwards on one of the pews, chin on her folded arms as she waited expectantly for his answer. "...why do you ask?" he said, laying his broom aside.

Marlene shrugged. "I dunno. You fight monsters and Cloud fights monsters and sometimes Tifa and Papa do too. So I just wondered."

Not contemplating her future career, then, which sent a strange flood of relief coursing through him. "I fight monsters because it's something I can do to contribute," he explained, taking up his broom again. Sand and dried leaf matter scattered before him with each _whisk, whisk._ "I'm good at it, and there's not much else I'm good at."

"That's not true," Marlene objected. "You're good at origami."

Sephiroth found himself smiling. "Thank you, Marlene." So far their attempts to come up with a moogle origami pattern hadn't produced anything but shapeless paper lumps, but he could still make chocobos like a champ. "But origami isn't as financially viable as monster hunting."

"It's dangerous, isn't it," Marlene murmured, and Sephiroth suddenly understood. Once again the broom was set aside, and Sephiroth left it behind to sit down beside Marlene. The small girl leaned against his side immediately. Sephiroth felt her sigh, and dared to rest his arm over her shoulders.

"It can be dangerous," he said, because he had no skill at lying and never had. "There may come a time when I or one of your guardians come back from a hunting trip injured. I promise I'll do my best to stay safe while I'm out there, but..." His hunt against the dragon rider flashed behind his eyes.

Marlene, picking up on even that small moment of tension, latched onto a fold of Sephiroth's shirt and clung there. "But what if you die?"

_Oh, Marlene._ Sephiroth closed his eyes against a faint prickle. "I won't die. I still have debts to pay."

"...huh?"

...that was too much for a child. Sephiroth shook his head, tried to project the confidence and strength he'd had as the General, as much as he distrusted and pitied that blind, stupid fool in his past. "I have trained all my life to fight," he told her. "Only Cloud has ever bested me more than once. 'Second strongest person in the world' is nothing to take lightly, you know." Oh thank Odin, there was a smile flitting across Marlene's face. "I may be injured from time to time, but magic will heal me. And I will not die. Not when I know you and Denzel are waiting for me."

He wasn't sure he believed the words even as he spoke them, but... it didn't feel like a lie, either. Marlene hugged him tight and Sephiroth returned the hug, memorizing her warmth, the soft press of her fingertips and the scent of her shampoo.

"I found it!" Denzel, shouldering the church door open with his hands triumphantly clutching a battered box. "...oh."

"Denz!" Marlene reached out to him, making grabby-motions. "Hugs, then board games."

Marlene clearly had her priorities in order, if Denzel's blinding grin was any indication. He set the game down beside the door and ran to join them.

*

Days passed, Gleipnir returned to the ranch, and no word from Reeve about Scarlet. No word from his forensics team either, and Sephiroth found himself going on longer and longer jogs in the morning and afternoon to exhaust his jangling nerves. He could occupy himself on those jogs by marking the numbers and locations of new Masamune graffiti marks.

Neighborhood teenagers - some of whom were the artists of that graffiti, Sephiroth was sure - started to join him on his runs, appearing out of houses and alleys as he passed no matter how he changed up his route. ...Well, they tried. None of them could keep up with him, and he tried not to feel too smug about that. They were persistent, though, and he wasn't Cloud, able to talk them into giving up. All he could do was outrun them.

Cloud rolled his eyes when Sephiroth told him about it. "If it escalates," he promised, "let me know and I'll... something. Talk to their parents, I guess."

"Thank you." Sephiroth hesitated. "Do you know anything more about..."

"...nothing. Sorry." Cloud shook his head. "I'll keep you updated."

_I'll keep you updated._ Like theirs was a working relationship. Sephiroth nodded with a new hopefulness and returned to the church.

It was hard to wait, but if Cloud was willing to include him, he would be flawlessly patient.

*

_A cold nose nudged his cheek, a whine pierced his rest, and Sephiroth roused. "What," he started._

_Zack shoved his entire face into Sephiroth's neck and shoved, and Sephiroth sat up. They were in the church, amidst Aeris's flowers - had he fallen asleep there? - and the sickle moon was visible through the hole in the roof, silvering everything with its light. Zack's fur was frosted in it, twinkling as he paced in and out of the moonbeams filtering from the roof - moonlight, shadow, moonlight._

_Sephiroth didn't question it. Wolf or human, Zack's signal of urgency was undeniable, and Sephiroth was never going to ignore it again. He rose to his feet. Zack pressed against him, whining, all but shouldering him toward the door. "All right, Zack, I'm going," he whispered, reaching to pat the great furry head of his friend-_

-he was alone, and he stood on the outside of the church, the doors swinging shut gently behind him, in his pajamas and socks and no boots. He had no thought of going back for them, or for a weapon. Far off, something was _calling._

It was such a very simple mind that barely brushed Sephiroth's, just an emptiness more profound than hunger, an emptiness that human flesh would only _fuel,_ never fill. It struck him like lightning, brighter than moonlight, darker than hell, and he broke into a run from a cold start, ignoring the pound of the hard concrete on his heels. Nothing mattered but the mission: _find the source of that call, and kill it._

It must have been well past midnight. The moon hung low, skimming the tops of the buildings to his right; no passersby lined the streets, so there were no witnesses to his flight. The convenience store was open, its light briefly bathing him as he passed; no place else was. Though he knew the direction the call was coming from, the unfamiliar streets of Edge confounded him, had him doubling back and circling blocks at an increasingly desperate jog until finally he found himself in what passed for Edge's poorer district, well within the shadow of the wreckage of Old Midgar. _Here,_ that call whispered. _Here, here, here._

Catching his breath, wishing for a weapon, Sephiroth took stock. The junkers' hovels were squat and drab, crowded together with no real order to them, which made the aggressively cheery red-roofed cottage stick out all the more. As Sephiroth watched, the building shifted on its foundation, edging away from him and deeper into a gap between two dwellings. A hum emanated from it, low and grinding, nothing of the jaw and throat of an animal in the sound.

_Hell House._

They'd been endemic under the Plate, ten years ago - too much to hope, it seemed, that they had been wiped out by Meteor. Perhaps this one had migrated here from elsewhere, but - Sephiroth shook his head. Tracking the monster's path could come later. First he had to kill the thing.

One of the junker huts nearby had a garden in front - a small and humble patch of land, but their squash vines were flourishing. Sephiroth stole a few rocks from the surrounding drainage bed and retreated a bit back the way he'd come. He palmed a rock, took a steadying breath. "Over here, beast!"

The rock bounced off the cottage's window - it wasn't really glass after all - but it succeeded in getting the monster's attention. The Hell House jerked, shifting on its foundations, and juddered its way around so its front door (another illusion) was facing Sephiroth. The humming increased in volume. "That's right," Sephiroth goaded. "Come away from there." He lobbed another rock. This one bounced off his quarry's door and porch.

The monster gathered itself, and Sephiroth caught the briefest glimpse of something small moving behind it before it lurched toward him. _Deal with that later,_ he told himself, for right then it was time to _duck._

The Hell House's first missile sailed over his head, exploding on the street behind him close enough to singe the loose strands of hair that had come undone from his braid. He leaped forward as the roof lifted for another shot, closing the distance in two long strides to shoulder-check the monster right in the front door. The roof rattled and slammed shut again, and the thing _moaned_ like it'd bitten its tongue. Sephiroth curled his leg up for a kick for good measure, but the Hell House shook itself violently and threw him off again. Sephiroth hissed as he regained his balance. He _could_ kill this thing, but progress would be painfully slow. And, he reminded himself as the roof creaked open again, there were the surrounding houses to worry about. If he wasn't careful where he stood, someone was going to get a missile through their window.

He stepped to his left, shouted and threw another rock. The Hell House adjusted its aim.

This time the missile landed too close - it would have been right at his feet if he hadn't jumped. Sephiroth charged through the heat-haze and dust, not slowing one bit until he slammed into the front door again. The rebound knocked him halfway down the porch steps, but Sephiroth recovered quicker than the Hell House did and this time managed to get two kicks in before the monster shook him off.

He hissed, mostly to himself; his shoulder complained of the bruising treatment as he moved. The Hell House turned again to locate him, rattling ominously - and beyond it, Sephiroth saw the door to one of the junker houses swinging slowly open. Lights were coming on in some of the others, and at the windows - human figures, peering out in fear and awe and curiosity.

_Too much to hope they'd sleep through all this,_ Sephiroth realized. "Stay inside!" he roared, and the door jerked closed again. "I hope they all have your sense," he muttered to whoever was behind that door, and backed up in a hurry as the Hell House's roof jerked open again, the red sheen of a missile's head barely visible in the black.

The call pulsed through him, so strong and sudden that he swayed on his feet. _// come // fill me // you are me /////_

"General!"

Sephiroth's head snapped up, a desperate denial fading on his lips. In front of another of the junker houses, a boy stood, and even in his distracted state Sephiroth recognized him as one of the boys who'd chased him into Starcup Coffee. "Catch!" the boy shrilled, his voice cracking at the end, and cocked his arm back to lob something long and slim at him. Sephiroth put out his hand on instinct and caught the whatever-it-was an instant before the missile hit.

He might have been seriously hurt if the Hell House could aim for beans, but as it was he was only knocked down by the missile's impact a foot to his left. Scrambling to his feet, he gripped the sheath of the weapon he now held and tore it free, revealing -

_Masamune...? .....no._

The balance was wrong, it was too light, and the blade actually _wobbled_ as it was unsheathed, but it was undeniably a display replica of his old signature weapon. "Don't worry, it's legit!" his benefactor crowed as Sephiroth held it gingerly before him. "The steel's been folded over two hundred times!"

"...are you serious?"

There was no time to question where the young man had gotten his ideas on katana forging. The Hell House's attention had turned, lurching toward the source of the shrill shout, and the sword-throwing boy at least had the sense to scramble the hell inside. "Hey! I'm your opponent!" Sephiroth yelled, and as he leaped to attack he forgot the sword in his hands was a replica. The General lashed out at his quarry, his form flawless, sword flashing like a streak of lightning in his hands to strike once, twice-

On the third stroke, the replica broke, half its length spinning away into darkness. Sephiroth swore and chucked the remainder into the Hell House's maw. The roof slammed shut on a rattle that sounded more like a choke. "Enjoy it, you horror," Sephiroth told it, and kicked it in the doorjamb for good measure. Here he was, back at square one.

"Boy, _move!"_

Sephiroth was obeying the command before he clocked where it came from: the window of the same house that the sword-throwing boy had retreated into. An old woman leveled a shotgun over the windowsill, squinted down the barrel, and fired two shots that shone with magic enhancement. Both of them hit the Hell House's broad side, leaving frosted-over gouges in the not-wood paneling. The Hell House reeled, groaning like a foundering ship.

"Hah!" the shooter crowed.

More gunshots rang out, peppering the Hell House's hide. None of them flashed with magic like the old woman's, but clearly the people who lived here weren't content to cower in their houses while a relic of the old order beat the monster for them. _Well, good._ Sephiroth grinned as the House shook, shuffling back and forth in a futile attempt to escape the hail of bullets.

And abruptly _jumped_ , and Sephiroth had enough time to think _oh, hells_ before it landed and the shockwave blasted him back.

He kept his feet, but only just. As he blinked the dust out of his eyes, the transformed Hell House loomed out of the haze, moving much more smoothly on four articulated legs than on its foundations. Haphazard arms, one of them ending in a curved blade rather than the robotlike hands of the other two, arched up in threat. The head was held low, face pointing toward the ground, but it pointed unerringly at Sephiroth. The Hell House had transformed, and was no longer blind.

Around him, the junkers' huts sported cracked windows, and here and there a bit of metal plating dangled unmoored. The neighborhood gun-wielders had disappeared - all but the old woman, dragging herself dizzily upright by one tattered curtain and by the arm of her grandson, the replica-thrower. Or so Sephiroth presumed. He let out a relieved breath, sucked in another one and charged.

Sephiroth had to jump to hit the thing, but that was no hardship. The bony head of the transformed Hell House rocked with every flying knee-strike, its arms flailing uselessly as they tried to get past the House's own bulk to attack him. Sephiroth grinned fiercely as bone cracked with every strike. _This_ was his element - if nothing else, Shinra had succeeded in producing an effective killer of monsters. _Another couple of blows,_ he calculated as the monster moaned and staggered. He wasn't even worried when the monster shook him off and gathered itself.

Hell Houses were poorly designed, as monsters went. But they were fearsome in their own right, and being out of range of their arms or missiles was still no guarantee of safety.

So Sephiroth's thoughts went, as he dashed under the shadow of the midair Hell House bare seconds before it came down, a massive fiery shockwave buffeting his hair and clothes. "Ma'am," he called, "your shotgun!"

"No more bullets, son!" protested the old woman at the window. "We're not Shinra Military!"

_Damn._ "Your Materia, then!"

The Hell House was turning, sensing its prey had escaped its suicide drop. Sephiroth edged closer to her, extended a hand as she threw something hard and cold at him as hard as she could. It hit his palm and sank in, and he turned to the monster wreathed in frost.

_War magic._ He'd forgotten what it felt like. Not even Gravity could compare.

The beast's legs bent, preparing for another leap or a charge; Sephiroth targeted them first, spears of ice lancing through the mingled metal and flesh. The Hell House stumbled, its foundations hitting the street with a deafening thud, and listed helplessly backward. Sephiroth lifted his hand, bitter-cold power gathering to him.

The monster's face, normally fixed to face the ground, lifted into view. In shape it had the seeming of a human skull made ridiculously outsized, and sunk deep in the sockets its eyes glowed green, cut by cat-slit pupils.

_////you are me /// you // are / me /_

_"No!"_

The magic flew, ripping more from him than he meant to give; but even as Sephiroth reeled, the bolt struck true, ripping the Hell House apart from within with spikes of ice. Sephiroth fell to the ground, shielding his face unthinkingly as the monster collapsed in a rain of ice shards and woody detritus.

Someone cheered. Sephiroth jerked upright, long years of training and experience taking over - that sound meant _attention,_ and attention meant _you do not show weakness._ He got to his feet, wincing - only now did he realize how much his feet hurt. Running out here without boots had been a terrible idea.

_You owe me for this, Zack._

The junkers were emerging, some of them poking at the Hell House carcass, others making a beeline for him. Sephiroth avoided them entirely, trying not to limp - and trying not to stride like a General - until he paused at the mouth of the alley the Hell House had been so interested in in the first place.

"It's safe now," he said.

A pile of newspaper shifted. A redheaded boy - dirty, skinny, and as barefoot as Sephiroth himself - emerged, glaring at him as though all of this was his fault, and perhaps the boy wasn't wrong. "Couldn't'a got me," he argued.

Sephiroth chose not to respond to that - no sense terrifying the child further. "Where are your parents?" he asked, and got a deeper glare in return. "...I'm sorry." Skinny shoulders lifted in a shrug. The boy stood and picked his way toward Sephiroth, skirting piles of newspaper and bags of recycling, and only when he took Sephiroth's proffered hand did he realize with a jolt that he was _gloveless_ among strangers.

...funny how that distressed him more than the boots, but there was no help for it. Sephiroth drew the boy forth, careful to keep himself between the child and the gathered crowd. He could hear them murmuring, exclaiming _Sephiroth, it's Sephiroth!_ already, and whatever was to come next - audulation or condemnation - the squinting, tense boy clinging to his hand didn't need to be exposed to it.

When someone finally spoke with him directly, though, it was neither of the reactions he was expecting. "Son, I'll be wanting that Materia back now."

He turned. The old lady from the window was lingering expectantly at his shoulder, her grandson at her elbow. "Of course," he said once he dredged up the words, and cupped his hands together to draw the crystal forth from his flesh. For some reason watching Materia emerge out of skin made some people queasy. "Thank you for the lend," he added as he handed the little green orb over.

"Hn." The woman eyed her Materia critically before stowing it in a pocket of her dressing gown. Sephiroth's professional instincts winced a little at such a potent weapon rattling around unsecured, but most people couldn't equip Materia directly like he could, and dressing gowns didn't come with bracers. "Well, one less of those eyesores, I say," she declared. "Though a pause to equip wouldn't go amiss next time."

A pointed look downward, and Sephiroth followed her gaze - yes, his feet really did look as dreadful as they felt. "I'm not usually so unprepared," he confessed.

The woman grinned at that. "We all have those days, young man. Now go on home, get some rest. We'll handle the cleanup in the morning."

"Yes ma'am."

The old woman gave him a satisfied nod and a pat on the arm before turning her gaze to his little foundling. Sephiroth watch her gaze go from assessing to quietly determined. "Well, lad?" she said, her voice easing into a gentler tone. "Are you coming?"

"Whuh." The boy jerked - had he been drowsing standing up? Blue eyes blinked up at Sephiroth, bewildered, but Sephiroth thought beyond the wariness he glimpsed a plea for guidance.

Sephiroth rather knew how he felt, as his mind went not to Cloud for once but to Tifa. She'd know exactly what to say to this hungry little boy. The only wisdom _he_ could draw on was... "A warrior does not shun help when it's offered. Your first duty is to survive."

...the wisdom of war. Unfit for children, unfit for civilians - but while Sephiroth was still wincing at himself, the child nodded, squeezed his hand, and then let go of it to allow the old woman to tuck him against her faded dressing gown. Again, the woman gave Sephiroth an approving nod before turning away. "Right, show's over, you lot!" she scolded to the small crowd of witnesses behind her. "Back to bed. That includes you, Trev my lad."

"Just a second," the boy - Trev, apparently - answered, lingering as the other junkers grumbled and laughed themselves back to their homes. "Hey, about my sword..."

_Oh, Odin preserve me._ "I'll pay you back what it was worth."

"It's fine, it's fine," Trev protested quickly, hands waving. "Just, was gonna say - uh - sorry." His voice dropped to a near mumble.

Sephiroth let out a slow breath. He'd known far too many young people like this. "It was a fine impulse," he admitted. "Just - for the record..."

"...yeah?"

"Steel isn't folded two hundred times. Katanas are forged with between eight and twenty foldings, depending on the type - any more than that and the steel receives no benefit." He regretted the words as soon as he said them - Trev looked ready to sink into his slippers, and Sephiroth felt like an obnoxious know-it-all in a lab coat.

"Teach me to trust pamphlets from Gold Saucer, I guess," Trev muttered. "The guys are gonna make so much fun of me for this."

"Sometime tonight, young man!" came a scolding call from across the street.

"Ugh," Trev rolled his eyes and turned, following his grandmother's order with all the grace and dignity of a wet chocobo. "G'night, sir!" he called over his shoulder. "Ditch Cloud and come hang out with us sometime!"

_...not likely._

As the last of the doors closed, Sephiroth was left alone with the remainder of the Hell House. It was lying on its side, head drooping limply from its neck. It almost didn't seem real like this - a jumble of inorganic trash rather than a once-living being. Its eye sockets were dark. Had Sephiroth imagined the green, glowing eyes, or the not-voice that had seared his mind the instant before he'd killed it?

He closed his eyes. Green flashed before him, hungry and inhuman. No, he couldn't be that lucky.

Sephiroth limped away as fast as he could, leaving the husk of Hell House behind.

*

"So let me get this straight. You ran outside in no boots, with no weapons, to fight a Hell House in the rough part of town at four in the morning?"

Sephiroth thought that over. "...strategically unsound in the light of day, I admit."

Cloud stared at him, a silent, flat 'why are you like this?' written in his eyes. Slowly, his face descended into his palm, trailing a long, hissed breath. "Oh-kay," he pronounced. "Let's just - let's just get this over with."

He was ruthless with the disinfectant, but Sephiroth had anticipated this and endured the sting, sitting very still on an upturned bucket in Tifa's mud room while Cloud attended every cut and bruise. As Cloud wrapped the stinging cuts in gauze, he thought to ask, "Why were you even out there in the first place?"

Sephiroth had his eyes fixed on his hands as he answered. "Zack alerted me." Cloud's hands paused. "In a dream," Sephiroth clarified as his stomach started to knot. "He visits me sometimes. In the shape of-"

"...a gray wolf." Cloud's voice was near a whisper. "With violet eyes."

Sephiroth dared a glance up. Cloud had his head tilted down, his eyebrows pulling together and his jaw tense - what he was concentrating on had nothing to do with Sephiroth's foot, he was sure. "Should I - not have said?" Sephiroth ventured.

Cloud sighed again, though it wasn't the exasperated hiss of a moment ago. "...I kind of wondered," he admitted, continuing with the bandages. "I see him too. Sometimes even when I'm awake. I thought I was going crazy again for a while," he admitted with a brief, bleak grin that faded into thoughtfulness like the sun dipping behind a cloud bank. "But I think - I think he was helping me put my head back together. Filling in some of what I'd lost. He's stopped showing up so much now that I don't get those white-out migraines anymore."

Sephiroth didn't answer, but Cloud must have felt that ripple of tension in his muscles - any deeper connection than that was too terrifying to contemplate. "...you too," he said, not a question. "How long?"

"Since emerging from the Lifestream. They've grown less frequent, but I don't know if that means some damage is healing or I've just - been trained by the flashes to avoid thinking about certain things." Sephiroth shrugged gingerly.

Cloud was silent for a moment. Then his face paled. "Dammit, you've been hunting monsters with this going on," he blurted.

"They don't happen when I'm fighting," Sephiroth protested, but Cloud was already standing, his hands restlessly clutching at the short end of bandage he was left with. "Cloud?"

"Four in the morning. No weapon. No Materia. No _shoes,_ " Cloud muttered. "And you've been having flashback migraines."

"I've faced worse in Wutai," Sephiroth muttered, rather too like a rebellious lieutenant for his own liking.

"It's the kind of thing Zack would've done," Cloud shot back.

Their brains stuttered to a halt in perfect sync. Cloud turned red at the cheeks and ears as he processed what had just come out of his mouth. Sephiroth covered his eyes, some of the same heat touching his own face. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment," he muttered into his palm.

"Zack, if you're listening, I didn't say that," Cloud grumbled, and Sephiroth sputtered.

"If he's listening, you're only egging him on," he pointed out.

Cloud shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips as Sephiroth continued to chortle. "I can dream."

 

*

_Zack lounged half on Sephiroth's stomach, tail wagging furiously. "Don't start," Sephiroth warned, and the wolf rolled over to beam at him upside-down, paws in the air, not at all fooled by the sternness in Sephiroth's tone._

_...quite rightly, Sephiroth admitted to himself. "Yes, well. Next time at least let me get my boots on first," he scolded gently, and Zack's tail went agreeably thump-thump._ You got it, boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if anyone's going to KupoCon in London in March, Sephiroth and Gleipnir a.k.a. my partner and I will be there! Come say hello. :D


	14. Chapter 13: Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth has a nice, normal afternoon and makes a couple new friends. Cue expressions of shock.

Two days later, Sephiroth emerged from the Blue Dolphin with a basket full of laundered clothes and nearly bumped into someone coming up the walk. "Pardon me," he murmured, eyes on his laundry.

"...sir!"

Sephiroth looked up. "...Specialist May," he greeted to her growing grin. "Here on official business, I take it."

Specialist Lily May, her red-trimmed gray WRO uniform looking less travel-rumpled than the last time he'd seen her, threw a salute. "Yes, sir! Director sent me to give this to you." She pulled a slim brown envelope out of her satchel. "Well, to give to Cloud to give to you, but since you're here I might as well."

"Just on the basket, please," Sephiroth offered, and May obligingly dropped it onto the folded shirts. "What is it?"

"It's payment for taking down the Hell House the other day." May tilted her head. "And I think the Director wants to ask you to keep doing it. Hunting in Edge, I mean. Those Hell Houses are a pain in the rear to kill."

"I haven't done a lot of hunting in urban environments," Sephiroth admitted. "I may not be the best man for the job. But of course I'll consider it, if Director Tuesti thinks he can use me in that capacity." It did sound just like him, given Reeve's expressed plans for Sephiroth's future.

Specialist May, having no idea of Sephiroth's future plans, gave his statement thoughtful consideration. "You could always sit in on one of our classes, sir. I mean, they'd probably be mostly review for you, but we do have a lot of focus on urban environments because that's where we do a lot of our work so..."

She shrugged up one shoulder shyly, her sense of decorum catching up with her impulse to help. "...it's not a bad idea," Sephiroth offered awkwardly, and May's shoulders loosened. "Are the classes for WRO members, or open to the public?"

"Umm... both?" May grinned sheepishly. "Originally they were just for WRO people who were focusing on monster control or urban reclaimation efforts, but when they started working with mercenary hunters the classes got opened up to them too. Normally mercenaries have to take a certain number of classes to be eligible to be on WRO's payroll, but I guess Director Tuesti waived that requirement for you."

Wise of him. "Kind of him," Sephiroth admitted. "Have you ever taken any of these classes?"

"Some of them." May grinned. "Everyone takes at least the intro courses, but you're not allowed to go much further than that until you hit eighteen and your bones finish growing. So you can bet I signed up for the next tier as soon as I turned eighteen!" she added with a laugh.

"Interesting," Sephiroth murmured.

"...sir?"

_...manners._ Sephiroth shook his head. "I was just thinking Director Tuesti's learned from the mistakes of the SOLDIER program. Anyway, do you have to report back right away? I'd like to know more about these classes, but..." He lifted his laundry basket illustratively.

May covered her mouth. "Oh! Sh- ...sugar, I'm sorry, sir. You're trying to get home and I'm talking your ear off."

"I encouraged it," Sephiroth pointed out, fair to the last.

May didn't look convinced, the flush in her cheeks lingering as she fell into step at Sephiroth's side. "...still," she insisted. "And - this is my last job of the day. I put in some overtime during the week so I get a half-day off today." Her eyes slid to him, speculative. "Actually..."

"...actually?"

May took a breath. "Okay, so this is probably _really_ forward of me, but I was going to meet my little siblings for a picnic after this, and you're welcome to join us if you're not doing anything?" Her voice rose in hopeful query. "My little brother's ten, and he's kiiiiind of a big fan of yours but he knows how to behave himself, I promise. And the other three are _way_ too grown-up to freak out. ...and, you're kind of staring, so I'm thinking I overstepped. Have I overstepped?"

Sephiroth forced himself to break his gaze, swallowing hard past a knotted tongue. _Don't frighten her, dammit S control yourself-!_ "...no," he muttered, and May's face creased in worry. "I'm not... with people, I..."

_Sephiroth was never particularly good at dealing with the public_ before _either._ Shame warred with frustration behind Sephiroth's breastbone until a gentle hand touched his wrist, barely brushing the leather of his glove.

"...there's this spot we usually go," May said. Her voice was calm, gentle. "It's across from the library on Spring Street. There's a little embankment there, so we can just sit above the road and watch the cars go by if we want. It's quiet. We've never been bothered up there."

She was no earnest and nonthreatening nine-year-old. Specialist May was a WRO soldier, with combat training against both humans and monsters if Sephiroth knew Reeve Tuesti. And here she was, coaxing Sephiroth as though he were a timid woodland chocobo, offering to trust him in the presence of her smaller siblings.

_Would you be so trusting if I told you all of what I've done?_

"...I need to tell Tifa where I'll be," he found himself saying.

May's grin was blinding. "That's okay, I have to check in at HQ. Meet you at the library? You know where it is, right?"

"I do." Sephiroth nodded. "...thank you, Specialist May."

"It's Lily. Or, well, it's Lily when I'm not on duty, which-" May halted, glanced down at herself. "Which I guess I still am, but anyway. You know what I mean."

"Er - yes," Sephiroth agreed, but Specialist May - Lily - was already darting off, presumably to report in to her superiors. Sephiroth shook his head and pointed himself in the direction of the church. Once he'd stowed his clean clothes, he had better do the same.

_Have I just... made a friend?_

*

The Spring Street Library was a new building - they all were, in Edge - seated at the curve of a road leading from 'downtown' to the residential areas of the south quarter of the city. On the other side of the road there was an earth embankment, at the top of which Sephiroth could see a single young tree. It would not be impossible to see someone sitting up there, but it would be difficult - and it would require that the observer look up, which people rarely did. Especially coming out of a library.

Speaking of which, the library door swung open on Lily's voice, and Sephiroth turned. Lily was holding a small boy by the hand, one with shoulder-length hair the same pale blond as Lily's pigtails. Her little brother, Sephiroth surmised.

Lily glanced up, gave him a slow smile, and spoke once more to her brother. "There he is. Want to introduce yourself?"

The boy turned and saw him for the first time: gray eyes widened. Sephiroth tucked his chin down and averted his gaze, trying to offset his intimidating features, and blinked when a small hand fearlessly entered his line of vision.

"'Lo," the boy chirped hopefully. "I'm Artemis. You can call me 'Mis."

" 'Mis," Sephiroth repeated, and extended his own hand for 'Mis to take.

He expected a handshake; he blinked when 'Mis took his hand and just held it, turning to beam hopefully at his sister. "Usual spot?" he chirped.

Lily was smiling helplessly at them both, a fond warm gaze that reminded Sephiroth of no one so much as Aeris. "Usual spot," she confirmed, shifting the large basket she held from one arm to the other. "I'm sure the Middles will be around soon. That's our three middle sisters," she added for Sephiroth's benefit. "Diana, Minerva and Mimi."

"Di's cranky," 'Mis informed Sephiroth seriously.

" 'Mis!"

"What? She is," 'Mis protested to Lily's disapproving face. "He should know so he doesn't think it's 'cause of him. And Mimi likes machines," he added to Sephiroth, "and 'Nerva likes books more than _anything_ , so she probably won't talk to you much either."

_Bless Marlene and Denzel for teaching me how to talk to children,_ Sephiroth thought. "I see. Thank you for telling me," he answered, and 'Mis beamed and squeezed his hand. "Do you like books too?" He nodded to the slim volume clutched under 'Mis's elbow.

"I like _these_ books." 'Mis shifted the book to his free hand without ever letting go of Sephiroth's, clearly eager to show him what he was reading. Lily, looking pained, halted him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go sit down first before we show Seph your book, okay?" she suggested, and 'Mis readily agreed. "Thanks, lilbit."

They crossed the street and raced each other up the embankment - Sephiroth, taking his cue from Lily, let 'Mis win, though the scolding look 'Mis threw them from the zenith said he was _not_ fooled, thank you very much - and sat down with Lily's basket in the middle. "Do you want to show Seph your book while we wait for the Middles?" Lily prompted her brother, and Sephiroth firmly directed his gaze _away_ from the basket. There likely wasn't going to be enough for him to sate a SOLDIER's metabolism, but he'd already resigned himself to considering this meal a pre-lunch snack.

'Mis, by contrast, seemed not to notice the basket at all. "Okay, so this is sixth in the series-"

"I thought it was the third," Lily frowned.

"Noo, the library just doesn't have three-four-five yet," 'Mis informed her importantly, and flipped the book open. "Okay, so this is my favorite part. There's an opera and a funny octopus!"

"An... octopus? In an opera?" Seph leaned over, following 'Mis's pointing finger down the crinkled page. What _were_ children reading these days?

'Mis giggled. "He's not _in_ the opera, silly," he said, and then Sephiroth had to devote brain cells to process _someone called me silly?_ "He's trying to sabotage the opera!"

Sephiroth scanned the paragraph 'Mis indicated. "Rather violently, it seems."

'Mis subsided, frowning, and for a moment Sephiroth was afraid he'd said something wrong. "...yeah," the boy allowed at least. "He does a lot of bad things in the story, but I don't think he's _bad_ -bad. Not like the _real_ bad guy is. He's just got a lot of Stuff and he never learned how to be good. ...And he's purple," the boy thought to add. "Purple's my favorite color."

_Stuff? ...purple?_

While Sephiroth was still puzzling over that, Lily reached over and ruffled 'Mis's hair. "Mine too," she grinned. "And on a completely unrelated note, look who's coming."

"Miiii!" 'Mis cried, standing to greet the two figures trotting up the slope ahead. " 'Nervaaaaa!"

" 'Miiiiiis!" one of them hollered back. 

Lily bounced to her feet, flinging her arms out wide. _"Middles!"_ she crowed, and the figures doubled their speed, not stopping until two girls - both dark-haired, older than 'Mis but younger than Lily, hence the moniker - tackled their older sister to the ground.

'Mis dashed to join the rolling wrestlepile, leaving Sephiroth to sit awkwardly by until it subsided. "Di not coming?" Lily gasped out from under her sprawling pile of littlesiblings.

"She was on the phone," shrugged the taller, stockier Middle, as the smaller and slighter one wormed her way free. "Who's this?"

"This is Seph!" Instantly 'Mis was at Seph's side, gripping his hand as if laying claim to him. "He's visiting today."

Sephiorth did his best to look nonthreatening as he was subjected to the critical examination of two girls on the brink of adolescence. "...hello," he offered.

"You're Sephiroth, huh?" the taller sister commented.

"Mimi," Lily murmured, a gentle warning.

Mimi shrugged. "Cool hair," she informed him, and turned to her older sister. "Lily, can we eat now? Who knows when Di's coming and I'm starving."

"All right, you mooch," Lily laughed, and opened the basket, and just like that, the Middles entirely lost interest in the former Silver General in their midst. As Lily passed out sandwiches, 'Mis, left behind to squire their guest, gave Sephiroth's arm an encouraging squeeze.

"How did I do?" he asked the boy, sotto voice.

'Mis gave the question due consideration. "I think y' did good." He patted Sephiroth's wrist encouragingly and smiled. "Want to get a sammich and we can read from my book some more?"

Though the idea of exposing a book to possible food stains gave him the horrors, Sephiroth nodded, and allowed 'Mis to procure sandwiches and potato salad for both of them. Lily handed 'Mis four sandwiches with a wink in Sephiroth's direction, and 'Mis ferried them back to him with an impressed look on his young face. "She must really like you," the boy informed him, dumping three of the wrapped sandwiches in Sephiroth's lap.

"I'm sure she just knows about SOLDIER metabolism," Sephiroth confided, and a worried little voice went _of course, that begs the question of where she learned about SOLDIERs._

"What's metabolism?" 'Mis asked with a wrinkle of his nose, and Sephiroth tabled the question in order to attempt to explain SOLDIER biology to a ten-year-old.

He found the right words in between bites of sandwich and potato salad, and ‘Mis said ‘oh,’ thought about it for a moment, and then offered his pickle spear to Sephiroth. “I’m full,” he explained when Sephiroth tried to decline, and the stubborn set to his jaw told him that the only option was to acquiesce. So he did.

Not that a single pickle spear was going to tip the scales of his energy needs much one way or the other, of course, but he found the sandwiches to be surprisingly filling and the potato salad - mysterious substance that it was - was nice as well. The Middles had settled in with their own food, Mimi chattering to Lily between bites and Minerva ignoring them all with her nose in a book several times thicker than ‘Mis’s. Sephiroth settled in next to ‘Mis to peek over his shoulder as he read his book out loud, and was content.

He was aware of the dark-haired figure approaching them four pages into ‘Mis’s recitation, but he didn’t react until Mimi piped up, “Hey, here comes Di. Think we should tell her we ate her sandwich?”

“Mean,” Lily scolded, and Mimi cackled. “Di, hurry up, or Mi’s gonna eat your sandwich!”

The figure didn’t respond until she was close enough to speak without shouting. “I’m wearing my good shoes, I’m not hurrying anywhere,” she stated loftily. “Tell me they at least gave you good sandwiches this time.”

“Come on, it’s free food,” Lily protested. “You don’t like it, buy your own lunch.”

“Whatever.” Diana - it was surely she, the mysterious ‘cranky’ third Middle - claimed her sandwich and a couple of pickle spears, but eschewed the potato salad. Sephiroth dipped his head back down again at that point, redirecting his attention to ‘Mis and his book, but ‘Mis had stopped reading aloud, and a moment later Diana paused quite deliberately in front of him.

“Well, hello,” she said, her tone suddenly warm, intrigued. “You’re a new face.”

“This’s Seph,” ‘Mis informed her, one hand curling around his bicep. “He’s visiting.”

Sephiroth lifted his eyes. Diana May still had the coltish limbs of a teenager, but her makeup, smart dress, and sandals spoke of a striving toward an older version of herself. “General Sephiroth,” she breathed, pressing her hand to her sternum. “I’ve heard rumors, of course, but - it’s such an honor to meet you.”

Some instinct moved him to stand, gently displacing ‘Mis, to offer a shallow bow as he would have to President Shinra’s society ladies. “It’s just Sephiroth,” he answered, “and the honor is mine.”

_“Wow, he’s tall,”_ he heard Mimi mutter, and Lily hummed agreement.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Sephiroth, then.” And that was Diana actually _batting her eyelashes,_ of all things. “So - you really have left Shinra? Are you working with WRO?”

“Diiii.” Lily’s voice took on a distinct warning tone.

“What? I’m not even allowed to talk to people now?”

Sephiroth quickly sat down again - if he was going to be the cause of another fight he’d just as soon not be in the middle of it. ‘Mis immediately latched onto his elbow, pressing his face into Sephiroth’s sleeve. Lily didn’t answer Di’s challenge, only continued her warning stare, and at length Di huffed and sat down under the tree next to Minerva. Minerva didn’t even look up.

“…I’m sorry,” Sephiroth murmured to ‘Mis, low-voiced. “I’m still not good with people.”

‘Mis sought out his hand with blind pattings, squeezed it tight when he found it. “…want to keep reading?” he near-whispered.

“Please.”

And so they read, while the sisters collectively finished off the last of the food and Lily drew Mimi and Diana into a card game Sephiroth didn’t know. After a few hands - and a few chapters - Mimi squinted sunwards and announced, “I’d better get to Zangan-Ryu class.”

“I’ll walk you there.” Lily collected her sisters’ cards and rose to her feet. “Seph? Want to walk with us partway?”

Sephiroth nodded. “I should return to the church, I think. Cloud will want to check in on me before Tifa leaves for her class.”

Mimi’s eyes lit. “You know Tifa? That’s our teacher!”

Sephiroth glanced at Lily, who shook her head in response to his silent query - no, of course she hadn’t told her siblings anything about his living situation, but from the way Diana was regarding him, it wasn’t hard to come to their own conclusions. “A remarkable woman,” he told Mimi, “and a remarkable fighter. You would do well to learn all you can from her.”

Mimi shrugged cheerfully. “I’m no good at it. I just like it.”

“…I see.”

This was probably another one of those things he wasn’t equipped to understand. Sephiroth happily let ‘Mis take his arm and monopolize him all the way back to downtown, where the May children and Sephiroth had to part company.

“See you in the field?” Lily suggested brightly.

Sephiroth nodded. “Thank you for your invitation. It was very kind of you to include me.”

“Come again next week?” ‘Mis piped up, tugging at his arm.

Lily laughed and swept him up. “We’ll see, lilbit. Sephiroth’s got a lot of stuff to do just like I do.”

“Saving the world?” ‘Mis grinned.

“Heheh, exactly!”

“It was nice to meet you as well, ‘Mis,” Sephiroth added when the two of them turned their grins on him. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit again, but I’d very much like to read with you again when I can.”

‘Mis gave him a look like he’d just been promoted to First Class. “Count on it!”

He held out his hand, palm facing Sephiroth; it took a couple of tries before Sephiroth learned that what ‘Mis was asking for was a ‘high-five,’ which he gave carefully. The May kids shuffled off, a knot of cheery, comradely chaos, and Sephiroth smiled to himself, patting himself on the back for (mostly) successfully navigating a social event with them for a whole afternoon.

“You’re good with kids, you know.”

Sephiroth turned. “You’re not going with them, Miss May?”

“Please, call me Diana.” Diana gave him a winning smile. “I just wanted to thank you. Distracting my annoying baby brother all afternoon probably wasn’t what you wanted to be doing with your day.” As Sephiroth groped for words to respond to that, she tugged a notebook out of her pocket, neatly printed something on it, and tore out the page to offer to him. “Here.”

“What’s…?” But the paper was already in his hand, curse his instincts - and Diana was smiling at him, red lips parted just slightly.

“My PHS number,” she informed him. “If you ever need help, or just someone to talk to, call me. I know a lot of people in this city, and I’m a _very_ good listener.”

_Oh, hells._

Sephiroth nodded silently - it had always been the best response with civilians who wanted a piece of him. Diana smiled again and trotted briskly off, in a subtly different direction from her siblings, and Sephiroth hurriedly stuffed the number in his pocket. He’d ask Cloud what to do with it, later - there may have been subtleties of human interaction he was missing.

*

“Don’t,” Cloud ordered, “call that number.”

Sephiroth blinked. “I wasn’t planning on it, but why…?”

“She’s what, sixteen?” Sephiroth made a ‘yes, roughly’ gesture. “Yeah, you’re thirty-five. I know you’re not gonna try anything-”

“Great Odin, no.” Sephiroth shuddered.

“-but she might not know that.” Cloud leaned a hand against the pew Sephiroth sat on, his face turned to catch the light from the half-opened church door. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again as if he’d thought better of saying more.

Sephiroth glanced down at the unfolded scrap of notebook paper in his hand, and without thinking about it too much, offered it to Cloud. Cloud took it with a nod and shoved it in his pocket, well out of sight. Silence settled in between them again, familiar and almost comfortable.

“…we’ve been looking into apartments nearby.” Cloud spoke quietly, disturbing the silence only faintly, like ripples on the surface of a pond. “There’s not much available, but if you want to look…”

“I’m not picky,” Sephiroth assured him. “I’m sure I’ll find something suitable.”

Cloud grimaced. “It’s cost I’m worried about. The rents are a little steep for the square footage you’d be getting.”

“Oh, is that all?” Sephiroth allowed a smile. “Money’s easy to get.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cloud lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Of course. Reeve wants me to keep hunting monsters in Edge.” He plucked the white envelope Lily had given him from in between the pages of his notebook and held it up for Cloud to see. “He’s already paid me for the Hell House.”

“How much?”

“I haven’t looked.”

Cloud chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. Let me know when you want me to help set up your hot pepper stall in the market.”

“No, thank you.” Sephiroth smoothed the creases out of the envelope between his fingertips. His smile lingered on his face, and for once he felt no need to hide it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be delayed liek whoa. KupoCon's coming up and my costume's in shambles.


	15. Chapter 14: Hunting Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While continuing to settle in, Sephiroth makes an attempt to dodge his past, which goes about as well as these things always do.

_“Someone, help! Please, help me!”_

Panicked breaths. Rapid footsteps coming to an abrupt halt. A low, rolling growl.

The young woman turned slowly. Precious little light made it into the alley, leaving all in shadow but the reflected glow of the Zenene’s eyes. The monster approached slowly, the skinny low-slung body moving in a slow slink, and the woman pressed back against the fence that blocked her escape as death looked her in the eyes.

A streak of light descended, point-first-

-and the Zenene died, its spine severed, and the warrior easily pulled his sword free of the corpse. “Are you hurt, miss?” he asked, turning green eyes that flashed like a cat’s to regard her.

The young woman swallowed and shook her head. “Se- Sephiroth?”

Sephiroth gave her a shallow bow, and she managed a smile in return. “Th-thank you,” she said, her voice slowly ceasing to tremble. “I’ll - I’ll tell everyone. That you’re _good.”_

Sephiroth lowered his gaze again, his bangs falling forward to hide his face. As the woman left the alley on unsteady legs, he nudged the dead Zenene with the toe of his boot. The face that turned to the light was a skull-like, toothsome mockery of his own.

Sephiroth shuddered. With a reflexive twitch of his fingers, he cast a dark ball of Gravity at the creature’s head. The skull imploded, erasing the resemblance.

*

_“So that’s three Zenene, two Kalm Fangs and another Hell House.” Aeris ticked them off on her fingers, glanced down at her hands, then tucked them behind her back to smile at him. “Not bad for a week’s work.”_

_“Mmm.” Sephiroth was seated beside Aeris’s flowers, legs tucked up under him, regarding the shimmer of dreamlight on petals with a pensive air. “Profitable, but worrying. Cloud tells me there weren’t as many monsters in Edge last year.”_

_“Well, he’s not wrong.”_

_The admission chilled him. “Aeris - do you know the source? Is it something I can-”_ Kill, _he’d been about to say, but - that wasn’t something he could say to Aeris of all people. “…take care of,” he amended._

_Aeris’s smile faded. Before his death he had hardly known her at all, but now there was a strange, intimate familiarity to watching her face, how her lips pursed in thought and her ginger eyelashes barely brushed her cheek. “I told you before I can’t help you,” she reminded him. “It’s not my right to interfere with the living.”_

_“…you literally returned me from death.”_

_“That was different.” Her freckled nose in the air, Aeris plopped down beside him. The flowers swayed faintly at her presence. “All I will say is that you’ll know what to do by the time you find the source.”_

_She patted his hand, right over the **01** mark. Sephiroth turned his hand over and let her palm settle against his. “And so I am a hunter,” he commented, “ridding the world of the monsters Shinra helped create. Am I closer to my redemption?”_

_“Mmm…” Aeris’s smile returned, warm and fond. “No.”_

_And she booped his nose._

*

Kalm Fangs were a perennial nuisance, the same after Meteorfall as before. No one was surprised when hunters returned from Edge’s outlying farmlands with purple-furred corpses slung over their shoulders to claim their bounty. The presence of Hell Houses was more worrying - they had been thought to be extinct due to Meteor’s devastation, but apparently enough had hunkered down and survived the event to begin to rebuild their numbers now. The real worry was the Zenenes. Pre-Meteor, they’d only shown up when Shinra’s Science Department had suffered a containment failure. What were they doing here now?

“We have a few theories,” admitted the WRO monster-hunting class instructor, “but due to the quick degredation of the bodies, there is little data to work from. For now we must urge you to log every encounter with time and location, as accurately as you can manage.”

Sephiroth, who’d only recently been issued the log sheets with which monster hunters were supposed to claim their pay from the Organization, shifted uncomfortably in his hard plastic seat. A hunter seated at the front of the room lifted her hand for acknowledgement. “What about pictures? Most of us carry a PHS with us, no reason we can’t snap a few shots, right?”

The instructor nodded. “Yes, if it’s safe for you to do so. Multiple angles and whole-body images would be useful.”

Sephiroth blinked - at the time of his death, PHSes hadn’t been capable of much more than over-land calls and text messages. Now they could take pictures, and do all sorts of things besides. From his place at the back of the room, he sometimes saw the glow of PHS screens as his classmates checked the time or their message backlog, or even used them to take notes or record parts of the teacher’s lecture. He deeply disapproved, but as the instructor had only intervened the one time he’d caught someone playing Chocobo Racers on their phone, Sephiroth chalked it up to yet another cultural shift that had happened while he’d been dead and let it go.

Less easy to ignore was another type of glow - vivid green eyes that kept turning in his direction, as if to make sure he was still there. A SOLDIER, sitting ten feet from him, kept in her seat only by respect for the instructor. The class had taken a twenty-minute break earlier, and Sephiroth had found it necessary to play hide-and-seek for twenty minutes to keep his former comrade (maybe?) from catching up to him. He’d have to do the same thing when class ended for good.

It did occur to him that it would be easier on his dignity if he just bit the bullet and talked to the SOLDIER, but it was too late. He was _committed_ now.

He was just toying with the idea of leaving class early when the instructor announced, “All right, let’s all get into groups and do some pathfinding exercises.”

_And thus the trap closes,_ he thought, and then - because he wasn’t a General anymore and didn’t need to be so formal - added a _damn it_ as the SOLDIER quickly dragged her desk to his desk and plonked down in it, grinning like she’d just hunted down a particularly troublesome dragon. “Hi,” she said, “let’s team up.”

Sephiroth looked around, but the handful of other students had already shuffled into their own small groups. One of them even caught Sephiroth’s regard and shrugged apologetically at him - no one, it seemed, wanted to brave the domain of two ex-SOLDIERs. No help there.

_Well, fine then._ Sephiroth braced himself, schooled his face to blankness as he faced his smiling fate. “Miss…” he tried.

“Oh, right! I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last time - Moony Baker, ex-SOLDIER Third Class. I’d salute or something, but-”

“Please don’t.”

“-uh, right, that.” Moony winced. “Sorry. You’re keeping a low profile, I get it.”

_Not as low as I’d like,_ went Sephiroth’s inner resentful voice, but he had Reeve to blame for that. And himself, for cooperating. “What did you mean,” he asked instead, “last time?”

He didn’t like that SOLDIER Third Class Baker hesitated, and even less the apologetic tone in her voice when she answered. “In the wastes - you know, the Devil Riders?”

_…oh._

“I was startled,” Sephiroth gritted out, knowing it a poor excuse for how he’d behaved. “…I’m sorry.”

Moony accepted a worksheet from the instructor and offered it to Sephiroth. On it was printed a rough map of one of Edge’s segments, with three icons representing monster sightings. “So…” the young SOLDIER hedged as Sephiroth traced the beginnings of a battle plan on it. “It wasn’t us? We didn’t do something wrong?”

“…no.”

“Oh, good.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Roddy was so worried.”

“That would be your partner?”

“Mhm.” Completely ignoring the worksheet, Moony rested her cheek against her fist. “Roderick Prynne, ex-SOLDIER First. Apparently he was one of your personal trainees? Before you - you know.”

Sephiroth could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing at the corners of his eyes; he deliberately drew his attention away from trying to recall those days. “I think I remembered him when I first saw him. Or someone very like him.”

“As far as I know he doesn’t have any brothers.” Moony grinned.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember you, though.” Sephiroth testingly drew a suboptimal battle plan, just to see if Moony would notice.

“Oh, you wouldn’t,” was the breezy reply, “I joined up after you disappeared. In the end I was only in SOLDIER for a year and a half or so before the world tried to end.”

_What am I meant to say to that?_ “…I see,” Sephiroth murmured, and continued to be suboptimal on their worksheet. Moony had yet to even glance at it.

“So anyway,” she forged ahead, “we have board game night at Anchor Base the first Sunday of every month. You’re welcome to come check it out, if you want? There’s food - Roddy’s an underPlate kid but his grandpa was from up north, so he does a mean stuffed cabbage. Or there’s this spicy orange chicken stuff if you’re into spicy food. I mean, I’m not, but it’s so good I end up trying to eat it anyway. It hu-rts,” she groaned, drawing out the word dramatically, “but it’s wo-rth it.”

“…I’ll pass, thanks.”

Her expression fell. “On board game night?”

“On willingly putting things in my mouth that try to fry my face off.” Sephiroth put down his pen as Moony laughed. “Would I really be welcome?” He couldn’t hold in a roving glance, searching for others who might be paying attention to them. “Has Reeve - or Cloud or anyone - told you what really happened?”

“Sir.” Moony put her hand on the table near Sephiroth’s, green eyes kind. “We all had It in our heads. We _know_ what happened.”

_…oh. …of course they know._

His gaze drifted to Moony’s hand, pale and patient next to his own gloved one. He could do it, couldn’t he? He could go to the one group of people who would understand him better than anyone outside of Cloud. He could go and apologize to SOLDIER Prynne, if nothing else; if he and the other SOLDIERs were as accepting as Moony claimed, he could meet with them, see how many he remembered out of the ones that had survived him-

_-flash, screaming horrible soundless white-_

-oh, gods, gravity was _tilted._ He gripped the desk, forced his breath to slow, hissing evenly through his teeth. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Just at the edge of his perception, Moony hovered, but didn’t quite dare to touch. _Good._

What had he been _thinking?_

“You all right?” Sephiroth’s senses began to clear; it was the instructor speaking, not the SOLDIER, and he at least had the sense to give Sephiroth space.

“Dizzy spell,” he answered tightly. “I’ll be fine in a moment.” The instructor hesitated, clearly concerned, but ultimately let it be. Moony continued to hover until he managed to straighten in his seat, his breath easing and his shoulders relaxing. “…all right,” he muttered.

“All right?” Moony repeated, clearly not convinced.

“…more or less.” He must have made a disgruntled face, for Moony let out an unwilling giggle. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to be much use to you. You should probably have chosen another partner for this.”

“Not on your life,” was the tart reply. “I finally get to meet you! I thought you were just going to be this - poster on my wall all my life.”

_Sweet Odin._ “Poster?” Sephiroth asked, against his better instincts.

Moony shrugged, embarrassed but clearly not embarrassed enough to not want to talk about it. “You know. Posing all dramatic. Look, give me a break,” she mock-scolded, “I was twelve. Anyway, think about the board game night thing, okay? Or, you know, anytime you feel like swinging by. I can draw you a map if you want, but Cloud knows where it is if you want to both come.”

“Cloud does?” Sephiroth frowned. “Does he come to - your game nights?”

Moony flailed with a grunt of frustration. “We keep _asking_ him!”

Sephiroth lowered his gaze again. “I’ll… bring it up with him.” Which was a lie - the last thing he wanted was to have to admit he’d met, run away from, and then been trapped by some of the SOLDIER remnant. And if Cloud had repeatedly refused their overtures, he must have reason. Even if Sephiroth couldn’t fathom them. _Why would you avoid the people you are most like? They would welcome you, you know._

_Zack was one of them._

The group exercise was called to a close after that, and as Moony retreated and the instructor collected the worksheets, Sephiroth reflected that the one benefit of having one of his migraines in public meant no one would fault him for withdrawing from the class early. So he did, quietly and unobtrusively, and this time not even Moony followed him out.

*

Four new Masamune marks between the educational facility and the church - including one on the church itself, and Sephiroth sighed as he fetched his cleaning supplies. He’d wanted to spend the latter half of his afternoon training, but so much for that now. His head was throbbing, and he didn’t think it was because of the flashback migraine because those rarely lingered, but having had one in front of Moony - SOLDIER Baker - and the instructor wasn’t helping his stress levels. He took it out on the paint, scrubbing viciously with the harsh paint thinner until his eyes and nose stung with it and his back ached to match his head.

_“What’s he doing?”_

The whisper reached him as he paused to rest his arm. He stilled, arm propped against the wall to let the ache drain out while he waited for the voice to come again so he could pinpoint where it came from.

_“Shh, shut up,”_ someone hissed, _“he can probably hear us.”_

_“No way. Not even Cloud-”_

…his fan club was back.

Sephiroth hissed through his teeth and continued. Watching a man scrub paint off a church’s brick siding couldn’t possibly be interesting enough to make them - six or so boys, he surmised by counting breaths - linger for long. _“Aw, man, that was my best one yet,”_ went a whispered lament, and no, apparently Sephiroth was destined to be mystified by human behavior again. They were in the nearby alley, he thought, close enough to see if he turned around, which he refused to do. _“Why’s he erasing it? Doesn’t he know it’s for him?”_

For a horrible red-tinged moment Sephiroth wanted to turn, confront them - _you don’t have the slightest idea-!_ …no. No, he couldn’t, he _mustn’t,_ and he hunched his shoulders with the effort of holding himself in.

“It doesn’t belong here,” he said loudly, his only surrender to the twisting behind his breastbone.

_“Shit, he_ can _hear us!”_ And that was the sound of half a dozen teenagers fleeing in panic. Sephiroth sighed and re-soaked his sponge.

*

_Zack was agitated tonight. He paced about the church, growling to himself, fur bristling in waves that shimmered like obsidian. Sephiroth folded his arms behind his head, stretched out on his cot, and watched him idly. “Patrolling again?” he asked._

_Zack turned to face him and barked. Actually_ barked, _like a dog serving a warning. “If it’s another monster,” Sephiroth warned him, “I hope you’ll at least let me get my boots on first.”_

_Zack moaned and flopped on his side, rolling in utter frustration. Sephiroth closed his eyes and chuckled for about as long as it took for Zack to recover from his frustration-roll, trot over, fasten his teeth in Sephiroth’s pajama shirt and_ yank. __

_“Zack!”_

_“Rrr.”_

_Half fallen out of his cot, Sephiroth blinked as his wolf-shaped friend gently shook his mouthful of shirt, growled, and then let go to roughly lick his face. The message was clear - Zack still loved him but_ was he ever a pain in the ass. __

_“It would help if I could understand what you wanted!” Sephiroth protested, bringing up a hand to shield his face from the Punitive Wolfkisses. Zack groaned and flopped down again, his head on Sephiroth’s stomach. “…I’m sorry,” Sephiroth said to those woebegone violet eyes. “I didn’t even understand you when you were in front of my eyes in the waking world. It’s my fault.”_

_“…rrrr.”_

*

When Sephiroth woke up, there was a small hole in his pajama shirt. He puzzled over it, but it didn’t offer up any clues as to why his friend’s ghost had been such a ball of nerves the night before. Was there something coming? A stronger monster? …well. If there was, he would meet it. To that end, he decided, he’d better continue his strength training.

He was nearly done with his daily one hundred sit-ups when a heavy tread along the path to the church alerted him that he was about to have a visitor. He slowed to a halt, sat up, and fetched his towel. By the time Barret Wallace pounded on the church door, he was more or less presentable.

“Mr. Wallace,” he greeted upon opening the door. “Can I help you?”

“I told you to drop the Mister,” Barret grumped. He’d shaved since the last time Sephiroth had saw him, only a thin line of fuzz over his chin - Marlene’s preference. “Anyway, I - look, I got a favor to ask.”

He was scowling as he said it, but his eyes weren’t quite meeting Sephiroth’s. That wasn’t reassuring. Anger at Sephiroth, Sephiroth understood. “I’m listening,” he said, opening the church door wider to invite Barret inside.

Barret accepted the invitation with a grumble of discomfort, but the stress in the set of his shoulders seemed to drain off as he stepped past Sephiroth and took in more of the church. “…so this is where you crash, huh?” he asked.

_Why is this subject of interest to you?_ “…yes?”

Barret took it all in - the flowers, the altar, the small tight area of cot-and-coffee-pot that was the space Sephiroth had carved out for himself. Sephiroth expected a judgement, but what Barret said when he finally chose to speak was “So I got a lead on Scarlet, but there’s a catch. She wants to meet you.”

“Scarlet?” Sephiroth asked, mystified.

Barret made a frustrated noise. “Not Scarlet, my lead! She’s a reporter for this gossip rag, we used to make statements through them as Avalanche. Nobody paid much attention - like I said, total rag, but at least they weren’t on Shinra’s payroll.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, all you have to do is just show up. You don’t gotta say anything you don’t wanna. You’ll get two inches in a paper that mainly runs Bagrisk Boy sightings and horoscopes, and we’ll all go home and forget it ever happened. All right?”

_Reporters._ Exactly what he wanted to avoid, but Barret was standing with his hands in his pockets, as defensive as Sephiroth had ever seen him, and he had yet to meet Sephiroth’s eyes. Clearly he knew the magnitude of the favor he was asking.

“…is it the only way?”

Now Barret looked him in the face, wearing a reassuring forthright scowl. “Hell no! If you tell me to go fuck myself, I’ll just find another lead. I got lots of friends from the old days, so no pressure, got it?”

“Understood.” Sephiroth sighed and sank down on the nearest pew. Despite Barret’s assurances, he already knew what his decision was. Endangering his already fractured privacy was no sacrifice compared to stopping Scarlet, or whoever was responsible for the Wolfmeisters in Corel and the Zenenes in Edge.

_For Cloud and Tifa. For Marlene and Denzel._

“When?” he asked, and Barret let out a gusty breath of relief.

*

“Dressing up” just wasn’t going to happen without the services of a well-regarded tailor, but Sephiroth at least made sure his secondhand collared shirt and jeans were clean and neatly pressed for the interview. Barret lifted an eyebrow when he got his first look at Sephiroth’s best efforts.

“You look like a chaperone at your kid’s field trip,” he judged.

“I hope that means ‘nonthreatening’.”

Barret laughed. “Yeah, you did good. C’mon, beanpole.”

“‘Beanpole,’” Sephiroth muttered, but when he thought about it, he was rather pleased. No one, not even Zack, would have dared call him that to his face before. Barret flashed him a wicked grin, clearly taking pleasure in giving him a derisive nickname, but didn’t push it further as a bully might have. It felt so much like acceptance that Sephiroth had to quell the odd urge to thank him.

Barret led him back into the junker districts, and Sephiroth tried to orient himself by his desperate hunt for the Hell House days prior. Few streets looked familiar, but Barret seemed to know exactly where he was going, forging ahead with a confident stride. He even got called-out greetings from passerby here and there, and shouted back in varying modes of vulgarity depending on his audience. Sephiroth hung back in his shadow and observed, with as much comprehension as Gleipnir presented with complex calculus, until at last Barret came across a shabby patchwork building much like the shabby patchwork buildings around it aside from the hand-lettered sign on the door proclaiming it the headquarters of _Gaian Weekly._

_A name that says nothing,_ Sephiroth realized, and then they were inside. The air was close and stuffy, thick with the smell of ink and filled with the noise of hurried feet and hurried keyboards: sounds that, bit by bit, fell silent as the _Weekly’s_ staff caught notice of their visitors.

_Fall back,_ his instincts screamed, _retreat, there is nothing good that can come of this,_ but Barret was his mission commander and when he strode forward, Sephiroth fell in like a good soldier. “Hey,” Barret commented wryly, his voice carrying all too well in the silence, “what’s everybody starin’ for? Anyone’d think you typewriter monkeys never saw a black man before.”

“We don’t get out much,” someone snarked from the back of the writers’ desks - none of which was equipped with a typewriter - and laughter rippled through the room, easing the tension in Sephiroth’s shoulders. _Bless you, Barret._ “Di’s in the interview room - straight back, can’t miss it.”

“Got it, thanks.”

Sephiroth could feel the eyes on his back as he followed Barret to the interview room, but as the two of them entered, the young woman at the table stood to greet them, and Sephiroth jolted in shock. “Miss May!”

Diana May smiled at them both, the sun gilding her dark hair. “Thank you both for coming. Can I pour you some tea?”

_And thus the trap closes._

*

Over weak tea and dry biscuits, Diana asked, “So, Sephiroth. What brings you back to the site of Meteor?”

Barret half-stood. “Hey, if you dragged us here just to-”

Sephiroth put a hand out over Barret’s cybernetic arm, not quite daring to touch it. “I agreed to this,” he argued quietly, and Barret subsided with an unwilling grumble. “However,” he added to Diana, “I have no comment as regards my involvement in the Meteor event at this time.”

Diana tapped her bottom lip with her pencil. “Understandable,” she decided. “Let me rephrase - what brings you to Edge?”

Sephiroth nodded in gratitude. “I go where I am needed,” he said, “in association with World Regenesis Organization as a monster hunter.”

“So you have no more ties to Shinra?”

It was the question she’d asked him when they’d first met, and Sephiroth fought to keep his voice neutral as he answered. “None whatsoever.”

“Hmm.” Diana scratched something down in her notebook. “I’m sure your fans will be pleased to hear that. Shinra’s reputation has been rather tarnished lately.”

“So I hear.” Sephiroth took another sip of his tea.

“Are you willing to speak of why you left them?”

“That touches on the events I’m not willing to speak of, I’m afraid.” Sephiroth set his cup down with only the faintest of clinks. “I understand Rufus Shinra is committing his company’s wealth to various philanthropic causes, and I applaud his efforts in that regard.” Barret’s cough sounded suspiciously like ‘bullshit’. “But I will not work for him.”

Diana raised an eloquent eyebrow. “You must know the WRO accepts Shinra funds.”

“That is Reeve’s decision. Director Tuesti, that is.” Sephiroth folded his hands together. “I have a great deal of trust in him, despite his ties to Shinra. He has always dealt fairly with his people, and this time he has a mission that makes full use of his skills without constraining his conscience.”

Dark eyebrows arched. “I see.” Another scribble in her notebook, and she frowned at her notes. “Still, that’s quite a demotion for you.”

“There comes a time when the old guard must step aside,” Sephiroth answered, thinking of Lily. “I am content with my work. There is no need for me to take on a command role.”

“Do the SOLDIERs feel the same way?”

That was an unexpected angle of attack, and it knocked the breath out of him for a moment. “Is that relevant?” Barret demanded crankily, covering Sephiroth’s momentarily inability to speak.

“The SOLDIER community also takes missions from WRO, as well as maintaining their chocobo flock.” Now Diana was in lecture mode, sitting up in her chair as though she thought to tower over two very tall men. “And they’ve made their severing of all ties with Shinra very clear. Wouldn’t they want their beloved General to lead them again?”

_Beloved?_ “Surely not,” Sephiroth said. “The World Regenesis Organization’s mission is to facilitate society’s reinvention into something stronger and healthier than what was possible under Shinra’s control. As the SOLDIERs’ commander under Shinra, I would be a step backwards in that regard. We - humanity - cannot afford to move backward now.”

Diana immediately wrote that down, while Barret shot him a raised-eyebrows impressed look. “Well!” she declared. “This is going to be an _amazing_ article. Is there anything else you’d like Gaia to know, Sephiroth?”

Now this was always dangerous territory, when reporters asked him to go off-script. Sephiroth was about to say no, when the Masamune mark on Aeris’s church flashed through his mind. “I’d very much like,” he said, “if the persons responsible for painting graffiti of my old sword everywhere would desist. I don’t know if any of them read your paper, but… it’s not wise or helpful.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it,” Diana assured him brightly. “Really, thank you _so much_ for coming in to talk to me today. If there’s anything I can do for you in return…”

Barret cleared his throat. “The info I asked for?” he prompted.

“…well, besides that.” Diana smiled hopefully at Sephiroth, who squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. If this was a proposition, it was escaping him, but Cloud’s warning rang in his head and he knew he had to be on guard.

“Just report everything as accurately as you can,” he said at last. “That will be repayment enough.”

“I promise.” Diana gave him her warmest smile, and Sephiroth told himself she meant it. “Now, as promised-” She plucked a folder from the table beside her, presenting it with a flourish. “I’ve compiled the information into ‘confirmed’ and ‘rumor’ categories, so you don’t waste your time on unsubstantiated information, but you might be able to do something with both.”

Barret opened the folder and flipped through its pages. “Hey, this is good,” he marveled.

Diana lifted her chin proudly. “I am _very_ good at my job.”

“Guess you are.” Barret stood, nose still in the file. “All right, let’s get going. Seph?”

Sephiroth stood, pushed his chair in, and offered Diana a half-bow. “Thank you for having us.”

“The honor’s all mine, believe me.” Diana opened the door for them to politely usher them out, but couldn’t let them get away without one last minor embarrassment. “Let’s do lunch sometime!” she called after their retreating backs, and Sephiroth hunched.

“You’re too young for me, kid,” Barret shot back over his shoulder, and a series of splerks rippled out across the typing pool. Diana made a little ‘hmph!’ noise and retreated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Yes, Sephiroth is a One-Punch Man fanboy.  
> -Seriously, WHERE does Barret come from? Why is he the only example of ethnic diversity in the WHOLE DAMN GAME? I tried to just pick a region for his family to be from and I couldn’t make it work. *hands!*


	16. Chapter 15: Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did he really think he would be allowed to stay in the church forever?

_Thunk._

Sephiroth looked up from his book. The bar across the church doors held firm, the doors themselves sturdy despite age and weather. He was in no danger, but he was getting rather annoyed.

_”One more time! We almost had it!”_

_“Ugh, my shoulder’s killing me. This isn’t working.”_

_“Oh, don’t be such a baby-”_

_“What’s going on?”_

Sephiroth jerked up, nearly dropping his book. That had been Marlene’s voice.

_“Kid - get outta here! There’s a dangerous murderer in that church!”_

_“Wh- what? In Seph’s church?”_

_“-c’mon, we gotta warn Seph!”_

_“Hey, wait-!”_

Sephiroth was on his feet even before he heard the cries of panicked protest from Marlene and Denzel. The people outside, however hostile they might be to him, surely wouldn’t hurt _children-_ but it would have been a tactical error to place his trust in that, and so he unbarred the door and pulled it open.

“Seph!” Denzel cried, and the man who held his arm dropped his grip in blank shock.

The woman who held Marlene’s arms wasn’t so quick to let go, and it was to her that Sephiroth directed his attention: for the first time in a long while he intensified his natural intimidating face rather than tried to suppress it, and he was rewarded by seeing the woman s face turn white.  
“Let. Her. Go. Now,” he growled, and she snatched her hands away from Marlene as though the girl had suddenly become radioactive. “Inside, you two,” he ordered, and Denzel and Marlene dashed past him before any of the besiegers could gather their wits to protest. Sephiroth swung the door shut behind him and lowered the bar with a bang.

“Wow,” Marlene blurted breathlessly. “That was cool.”

Sephiroth took a moment to school his features before turning to the children. “Are either of you hurt?” he asked, kneeling to them, and Marlene and Denzel flung themselves at him for hugs. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“We’re okay,” Denzel assured him. “But Tifa said to tell you to come to the bar right away, it’s an emergency! And those guys out there said there was a murderer in here?”

Sephiroth felt his stomach sink at the words. Something in his face must have reflected his dismay, despite his best efforts, because Marlene and Denzel were hugging him fiercely again even before he answered. “There’s been no one here but me.”

“Then they’re stupid,” Marlene hissed, and Sephiroth was once again baffled by how he managed to earn the loyalty of these two children. “Can you take us out of here? Through the roof?”

“I can try.”

He had to sacrifice a couple of pairs of pants to make slings, but with Marlene and Denzel strapped to his back and clinging to his shoulders, his hands were free for climbing. His trip up the bell tower was easier this time - after his first trip, he’d rigged some improvements to brace the weak spots and punched in some handholds here and there - but the weight of two nine-year-olds slowed his progress, and he was sweating and staggering by the time he made it to the roof.

“There’s more of them,” Denzel whispered. Sephiroth shrank behind the broken hole in the roof, seeing Denzel was right - the siege battalion at the church entrance had nearly doubled in size.

“Let us down,” Marlene demanded.

Sephiroth shook his head. “I can’t yet. It looks like we’ll have to do some roof running. Hang on tight, you two, and shout if you feel yourself slipping.”

The two of them whispered their agreement and shifted their grips on him, holding on as tight as they could. Sephiroth stepped to the edge, judged the distance, and leaped.

He landed heavily - too heavily, his ankle turned under him at the unexpected weight and he went down hard on one knee - but they’d landed safely on the next roof over, likely making a racket in the warehouse below. Sephiroth forced himself up and ran half-crouched, a fresh spike of pain in his ankle at every step, across the warehouse and mechanics’ garage next to it, and finally clambered down to earth again thanks to the scaffolding of a building under construction. “Now let us down?” Marlene suggested.

Yes, said his ankle, that was an excellent idea. He knelt, numb fingers worrying at the knotted cloth until it came apart. Marlene and Denzel slid to the earth, immediately wiggling under his arms. “I wish I’d brought my cap,” he muttered, returning their hugs.

“Don’t worry, those guys think you’re still in the church,” Denzel told him, as proud as if he’d done the carrying.

Denzel’s assessment was accurate, though, thanks to their roof run and the tunnel-vision of frightened, angry people, but it was still a tense and painful walk to the bar. As before, Sephiroth went around back rather than use the front entrance, but unlike before, he tapped for permission to enter.

It was granted by a harried-looking Tifa, who ushered them inside so quickly Sephiroth hardly had time to get his boots off. “Hey, guys,” she said, bestowing quick hugs on Marlene and Denzel. “Go on upstairs. They’re waiting.”

“They?” Sephiroth asked, and Tifa pressed her lips together and didn’t respond.

Well, that wasn’t reassuring. Sephiroth allowed himself to be herded upstairs, children behind him and Tifa playing rear guard, his stomach sinking with every step. Had something happened? Had they found Scarlet?

In the kitchen, Barret was seated at the table, open bottle of beer at his arm, staring blearily at a newspaper. Cloud paused his pacing when Sephiroth entered, the children and Tifa piling in after him. On the table in front of him was a half-empty glass of something that smelled sharply of alcohol and apples. “Have you seen it?” Cloud demanded.

“Seen what?” Sephiroth moved aside. Marlene made a beeline for Barret; Tifa wordlessly went for the fridge. Only Denzel lingered, taking Sephiroth’s hand as Cloud exchanged a pained glance with Barret.

“Not like he gets paper delivery at the church,” Barret observed dryly.

“You’re not helping.”

“Would someone-!” Sephiroth deliberately bit his tongue and finished his sentence without raising his voice, painfully aware of the children watching him. “-please tell me what’s going on.”

Grimacing, Barret handed over the _Gaian Weekly_. Sephiroth’s stomach knotted before he even read the headline: plastered across the front page was an old, grainy press photo of him. The highly degraded nature of the photo made his skin look even paler and his eyes blaze with light. Below it, the headline: _MONSTER! The Mad General Returns To Finish What He Started! Edge Caught In The Crossfire! Eyewitnesses Tell Of This Deadly Feud Between The Creations of Shinra!_ Below, the byline in bold: _by Diana L. May._

“Well.” The word escaped him on an expelled breath as from a punch. “That explains things.”

“There were guys trying to bust down the church door!” Denzel burst out. Cloud actually looked shaken at that, reaching out for the nearest chair to steady himself as his gaze went unfocused and pale. “And they said-”

“We can imagine, Denz,” Tifa interrupted, but gently, not turning away from where she was pouring juice into the plastic cups the children used. At the table, Barret grimaced into Marlene’s hair.

Sephiroth put the paper back down on the table, not caring to read what Diana May had written, how she’d twisted what little he’d told her. Barret gave it a doleful look. “So, I bet you’re wishin’ you told me to go away that day,” he commented, clearly practiced in watching his language when little ones were present.

Sephiroth mulled it over. Despite the final decision having been Sephiroth’s, Barret’s uncharacteristic sodden expression - and the darkling looks Cloud was throwing him - indicated he was quite definitively in the doghouse over the whole affair. “The information Miss May gave you,” he said. “Is it useful?”

“Too soon to tell, but it’s given me some new places to look.” Barret accepted a cup from Tifa and passed it to Marlene, then picked up his beer. They tapped their respective vessels together, plastic to glass, and drank. “Might have something good by the end of the week.”

“Then I am content.” Sephiroth shrugged at the twin shocked looks Cloud and Barret were throwing him. “This - current unpleasantness was always inevitable, once we agreed to Reeve’s plan to make me a public figure again.”

Barret barked a laugh. “So we’re blaming Reeve! Thanks, buddy.”

“You’re... welcome?”

His confusion didn’t abate when Tifa pressed a glass into his hand - hard cider, not juice like she’d brought Denzel or beer like she d gotten for herself. “So what do we do now?” she asked the room at large. “Do we have an apartment yet? Weren’t you going to call about one, Cloud?”

“Already sold by the time I called,” Cloud admitted. “Sorry, Sephiroth.”

Sephiroth shrugged faintly. “Pity, but not an emergency. I’m more worried about the blowback on your businesses.” Tifa and Cloud hesitated, sharing a grim glance. “...Gods, what is it.”

“Let us worry about that,” Tifa ordered. “We need to find someplace safer for you.”

“Miss Tifa, please, I can sleep anywhere,” Sephiroth protested.

“You are _going_ to have a _roof,_ Sephiroth.” Tifa’s glare didn’t break when the phone rang. “Cloud, talk some sense into him,” she commanded, and Sephiroth folded his hands against the urge to salute as she went to answer it. Cloud lifted his hands, wide-eyed, a clear ‘how?’ as Tifa grabbed the phone and put on her cheery voice. “Lockheart and Strife Delivery Services,” she said, listened a moment, then huffed and slammed the phone back down. “Where were we?”

“Before what I assume was not the first call concerning my presence?” Sephiroth asked evenly, and Tifa’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, but I could hear the gentleman on the other line.”

“Not-” Tifa held up a sharp hand. “Not in front of the kids.”

Denzel looked up at him, eyes wide, and Sephiroth bit his tongue. No, they didn’t need to hear what Sephiroth had heard - a raspy voice threatening to put a brick through the _Dolphin’s_ window. “...apologies,” he muttered, and took the last seat at the table, across from Cloud. Denzel leaned into him, as Marlene had done for Barret, and Sephiroth took his cue from the other man and rested his arm over Denzel’s shoulders.

“...they haven’t all been threats,” Cloud told the table in front of him. “Few people asking for an autograph.”

“Couple of papers asking for interviews of their own,” Barret volunteered. “Boy, were they mad they got scooped by the _Weekly._ ”

“And someone offering to be your PR consultant, but I think that was Reno speaking falsetto.” Cloud cracked a smile, albeit a brief and crooked one. “I didn’t take down his number.”

“I appreciate that.” Sephiroth just bet the remnants of Shinra would jump at the chance to manage his image for him again, too. Abruptly he remembered there was a drink in his hand, and took a sip. It tasted like apples, and then like cleaning products. “Maybe I should grant interviews to other newspapers. More reputable ones.”

“ _No.”_ That was Tifa, Cloud and Barret all at once, and Denzel snickered at Sephiroth raising his eyebrows at them all. “Not yet, at least,” Tifa clarified. “Later, when we have some breathing space, we can discuss talking to the media again. Right now it’s more important we talk safety. Cloud, would you be willing to walk the kids to school for a while?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good. I’ll talk to the bar staff about security here. We’ve got our procedures for if someone gets out of line, but…”

“But comin’ in and goin’ out they’re just as likely to get harassed,” Barret pointed out.

Tifa sighed. “Yeah. I’m thinking buddy system?”

“Buddy system.”

“Buddy system?” Sephiroth murmured to Denzel.

“You get someone with you so you make sure neither of you get lost or sick or something,” Denzel explained seriously. “We do that on field trips. We went to the Holzen Farmstead last year and my buddy was Alfred, and he had an asthma attack and I had to call the teacher.”

“I see. ...well done,” Sephiroth offered awkwardly, and Denzel shrugged.

Tifa and Barret were still discussing safety procedures for the bar; Cloud, seeming to feel (as Sephiroth did) that he had nothing to contribute, got up and poured another drink for himself. He glanced back, met Sephiroth’s eyes, and lifted the bottle to show him, eyebrows raised in silent query. Unbalanced by the normalcy of being offered a drink, even by Cloud of all people, clashing with the surreality of their situation, Sephiroth shook his head, and Cloud shrugged and put the bottle away.

*

The phone rang four more times that day. The first two times, Tifa answered, listened for a moment, and then hung up with perhaps more force than strictly necessary. The third time, Cloud picked up before Tifa could, listened a moment, then said, “Hang on” and turned to Sephiroth.

“Lily May?” he asked, hand over the receiver.

Sephiroth blinked. “Yes?”

He d meant that as ‘yes, what about her?’ not ‘yes, give me the phone immediately,’ which was how Cloud interpreted it. Nevertheless, the phone was shoved into his hand, so he lifted it to his ear. “Sephiroth speaking.”

_“Sir! I am so, so sorry!”_

Sephiroth blinked. Somehow he’d forgotten Diana was Lily’s sister. “Lily, please,” he started.

 _“I told her to leave you alone, but she’s - she’s so - augh!”_ A muffled thump. _“I should have warned you. I really should have. I just - I hoped, for_ once, _she’d be a decent human being.”_

 _“Lily._ Please,” he repeated, putting a little of his old authority into it, and Lily quieted. “You’ve done nothing wrong and I don’t blame you. Your apology is appreciated but wholly unnecessary.”

 _“...thank you for saying so, sir.”_ Lily didn’t sound convinced. _“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?”_

“I’m fine. We’re adjusting our security procedures. Unless you think you can get your sister to print a retraction...?”

 _“Ugh, not a chance.”_ Lily took a frustrated breath, during which Sephiroth heard, and decided to ignore, the beep of another call trying to come through. _“You should have seen her this morning, walking on air. She thinks this is going to ‘advance her career’.”_

“She’s probably not wrong.” Sephiroth had no illusions as to how the media worked. “Well, then, if I think of anything I’ll be in touch. In the meantime just be careful and look after your family for me. Including Diana - I have at least as many misguided supporters as detractors, and I don’t want her targeted.”

_“Ugh. Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t throw her to the teenage boys. ...even though she kinda deserves it.”_

“You will hear no argument from me. ...take care, Lily.”

Hanging up, Sephiroth met Cloud’s mildly surprised look with an eyebrow-raise of his own. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Cloud answered, “just sounds like you made a friend.”

Sephiroth tilted his head down, fought the smile threatening to emerge at the corners of his mouth despite the anxiety still churning behind his breastbone. “All her doing, I assure you.”

“Still.” Cloud took the phone back from him and went to hang it up. “Good for you.”

He replaced it in the cradle, and it immediately rang again. He jumped like a startled chocobo, stared at it, then sighed and picked it up again. “Hello? ...hi, Reeve. Yeah, he’s here.” He glanced over his shoulder at Sephiroth, who shrugged and held out his hand again.

“Sephiroth sp-”

_“What in the holy hell were you thinking?”_

...well. This wasn’t going to be anywhere near as pleasant as the call with Lily. “It was a trade for information about Scarlet,” he answered quickly. “I knew the potential consequences-”

“It was Barret’s fault!” Cloud, having retreated to the sofa, had to raise his voice to be heard down the phone.

“Come on, it was fifty percent my fault at most!” Barret, in the kitchen helping Marlene and Denzel with homework, probably couldn’t be heard down the phone at all, despite the fact the man had quite the bellow.

“...it wasn’t Barret’s fault,” Sephiroth told Reeve in a quieter tone.

 _“We’ll see.”_ Reeve was unmoved. _“Sephiroth, when I said I wanted you to become more public, I didn’t mean for you to fling yourself into the deep end!”_

“Barret said the _Weekly_ was a rag that nobody paid attention to.”

 _“Well, it was, five years ago. Now it’s a rag that a lot of people pay attention to. And it’s always pushing conspiracy theories about me and my organization.”_ Sephiroth’s stomach sank. _“Now, I’m sorry, but I really have to insist you move out of that church immediately. I will find lodging for you tonight if you don’t have anything available.”_

“...the church came under attack today,” Sephiroth confessed quietly, and in the cut-off noise Reeve made Sephiroth could hear the man’s blood pressure spiking.

 _“...I’ll send a couple of officers to secure the church,”_ Reeve said, once his teeth had stopped grinding. _“And I’m assigning a couple to the_ Dolphin _as well. Don’t tell Tifa or she’ll fuss at me. That goes for you too, Cloud, since I know you can hear me.”_

Cloud shrugged. “He agrees,” Sephiroth relayed.

_”Fine, then. ...I’m sorry I snapped. This is a mess but it isn’t entirely your fault.”_

“I appreciate you saying so, Reeve.”

A pause, during which Sephiroth was sure he was getting the flat stare of an annoyed Director, then Reeve spoke again. _“I’ll call when we’ve found someplace for you to stay. Now, put Barret on.”_

There went that sinking feeling again. “Reeve, is that necessary? What’s done is done, and it really wasn’t his-”

_”Sephiroth. Put Barret on. Please.”_

Sephiroth sighed, and dutifully marched into the kitchen. “Apologies,” he muttered, offering the phone to Barret, and Barret grimaced as Marlene and Denzel looked on worriedly.

“Guess I gotta face the music,” he told them with a shrug. “Why don’t you two show Seph what you’re working on, huh? I won’t be long.”

As ordered, Sephiroth slid into a chair next to the children as Barret slid out of his. “Yeah, Reeve?” Barret greeted, tucking the phone to his ear. Look, before you start, lemme explain...”

“Papa’s really sorry,” Marlene informed Sephiroth, sotto voice.

“I’m not angry at him,” Sephiroth reassured her at the same volume. “This will blow over soon enough, you’ll see.” Marlene didn’t look convinced. Upon reflection, Sephiroth decided not to try to convince her further.

_Please, let me not be lying._

*

The lodgings Reeve found him was a crewman’s berth on one of WRO’s docked airships. It was acceptable.

Sephiroth lay in the too-small berth and listened to the echoing clang of footsteps marching back and forth, back and forth overhead. His belongings at the church had been stolen or destroyed - that made two of Cloud’s swords he’d lost, and no matter what Cloud said Sephiroth intended to pay the man back for them. Eventually. Somehow. The rest - a small collection of thrift-stall clothes, a few secondhand books, the altar full of origami chocobos - was replaceable. Reeve had promised to provide him with clothes in the morning; he was on his own for everything else. For now, all that he owned were the clothes on his back and the boots lined up by the door. Even the notepad and pen he’d been listing his material losses on was borrowed.

 _I didn’t even have that much when I first returned to the living world,_ he thought, tapping pen to paper thoughtfully. _I suppose Aeris had to send me back to the world in the same state in which I left it. A pair of leather trousers completely unsuitable to the weather, that was all... I suppose I didn’t need to worry about freezing to death so long as I was Mother’s vessel._

The thought made him wince in anticipation, but no whiteout-headache came. Thinking of Mother, it seemed, was no trouble for his shattered mind, perhaps because for five years he could think of nothing else. That didn’t make it comfortable - images of fire, of blood, of himself or his semblances traveling as much in the Lifestream as out of it, feeling neither hunger nor thirst nor cold nor heat. He had been neither alive nor dead, then, the Jenova cells in his body animating him with the terrible, cold will of his Mother.

She’d always been cold. But oh, she had approved of his rage.

Sephiroth pulled away from the memories, drawing his knees up and huddling at the head of the berth. Now he truly missed the books he’d lost. It would be a restless night with nothing to distract him from his thoughts.

 _Thump, thump, thump_ went the ceiling - it sounded as though they were doing drills up there, though at nearly ten at night Sephiroth thought that unlikely. Sleep didn’t seem to be in his immediate future, either way, which - at least it would mean less chance of a nightmare.

Sighing, Sephiroth sat up and tore a new sheet out of his borrowed notebook. He couldn’t do anything about the books, Cloud’s sword, or the constant noise of the airship, but he could at least make a start at replacing his paper chocobo flock.

*

_In his dreams, he was plunged into hot, roiling green._

_He had only moments to be disoriented. Voices rose from the depths, whispering eagerly for his flesh, and he thrashed in panic. His instinct was to swim for the surface, but there_ was _no surface, nothing to aim for and nothing to push against._

 _The voices tore through him, howling in incoherent rage. He was dissolving, losing memories, losing_ himself- __

_He cried out for Zack, but Zack didn’t come._

*

He awoke to alarms.

He was up in an instant, fumbling for his boots, fumbling for _(Masamune)_ a sword he no longer had. The alarms _throbbed_ against his temples, a form of torture when he was already sleep-deprived and tense. The instant he had his boots on he threw open the door with such force that it rattled on its tracks.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

The specialists he’d caught mid-dash through the hallway, all in varying degrees of ‘in uniform’, stared at him like - like he was standing over them with a bloody sword. Sephiroth mentally kicked himself and tried to unknot his shoulders until one of the specialists finally found their voice. “Sir - monsters emerging from the Midgar hole!”

 _Odin wept._ ‘The Midgar hole’ was how Edge referred to the wreckage of the Plate in the center of their city, at the center of which was the crushed remains of Shinra Tower. “What kind? How many?”

“Don’t know, sir,” piped up one of the others. “But it must be a lot if we’re all being mobilized.”

Abruptly, the alarms cut out, leaving Sephiroth deafened only by the leftover ringing in his ears. “Right, then,” he gritted. “Lead on.”

The specialists exchanged dubious looks. For a moment Sephiroth was sure they would refuse and urge him to retreat to his berth - it would have been what Shinra’s MP corps were expected to do. “...okay,” allowed one of them at last. “We’ll find you a weapon in the deployment bay.”

Lack of orders against it, it seemed, counted as permission in the WRO. Sephiroth wasn’t sure he approved, but it was in his favor this time, so when the specialists started running down the hall again he followed at a jog. As he did so, the floor under him hummed and shuddered - the airship was lifting off.

In the deployment bay his presence was accepted if not unremarked-upon. Sephiroth steeled himself against the glances, the exclamations, the chaos of land- and air-based troops jockeying for space, the latter pushing past them on their way to a small contingent of short-range planes. He couldn’t help scanning the crowd for Lily, but there were few flashes of blond hair among the soldiers and none in pigtails - perhaps she was posted elsewhere, and would be away from the fighting. Sephiroth’s guides led him to where the weapons racks were kept, and issued him a naginata that was a foot too short for him, a medkit on a belt, and a tactical wrist bracer equipped with a comm unit and two Materia slots filled with one green and one violet Materia. His blood tingled as he strapped on the bracer, sensing the steady presence of Barrier from the green crystal and an increased awareness from the violet one. His brain itched to pick apart Reeve’s tactical choices, but his guides had armed themselves and were ushering him into position to deploy with the rest of the ground troops and there was no time. Sephiroth took his place among the WRO monster hunters, though he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“This is a level three alert!” The officer in charge, badges of rank shining on his hat and high-vis tactical vest, stood to brief the troops as they shuffled into line. “We have confirmation of Zenenes from six outposts at the southern, southeastern, and northeastern checkpoints, and Brain Pods at the northern and northeastern. In addition we have civilians reporting Hell Houses on the move, but this is unconfirmed and should be regarded as a secondary objective until HQ issues confirmation. Zenenes and Brain Pods are both known to expel poisonous gases, so if you find yourself affected, use the antidotes in your medkit or retreat to the first aid corps. Stay with your groups, and if you find yourself separated get in radio contact immediately. Questions?” 

Sephiroth had many, but a raised hand beat him to the punch. “Yeah, what’s he doing here?” demanded a specialist with a firearm, jabbing a finger Sephiroth’s way.

All eyes turned to him. Sephiroth kept his head up and his eyes forward like a soldier, and thus met the shocked eyes of their briefer. The officer visibly worked his mouth a moment, struggling for an official response while the moment stretched and the specialists whispered _as though he couldn’t hear every word._

“Well,” the officer decided, “I’m not telling him to clear off,” and the whispering broke into a nervous ripple of laughter while Sephiroth swallowed the resentment that burned in his throat. “Anything else?”

No one had any followups after that, about Sephiroth’s presence or otherwise, and so they were told to sit tight until the airship reached the drop point their squad had been assigned to. Sephiroth’s guides shuffled through the crowd until they’d formed up around him, a small honor guard against those who questioned his presence. One of them, a woman with Barret’s complexion and Tifa’s build, murmured, “Well, _I’m_ glad you’re here.”

“Most people are when there are monsters to fight.” Sephiroth regretted that as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but the woman only nodded, seeming not to take his bitterness personally.

“Fair enough. I bet if you asked you could hang back with the healers instead. You’re good with magic, right?”

Sephiroth glanced back. The field medics were marked with bright green armbands that glinted with equipped Materia. “...yes, but it looks as though you have enough healers,” he said. “I can do more good as a hunter.”

She grinned, plainly pleased by his choice. Sephiroth nodded thanks to her and stilled himself to wait.

The short-range planes launched, and updates of monster positions and numbers began trickling back to the officers. One by one the squads deployed. Sephiroth’s borrowed squad - or the squad that was borrowing him - was one of the last, but while those around him were working themselves up to greater and greater heights of nervousness, Sephiroth was increasingly an island of - not calm, precisely. He was tense as a coiled spring and utterly still. _If only I could keep this focus elsewhere in my life._

At last, his squad was called to the fore, Sephiroth stalking behind them like a hellhound with good intentions. One by one, the specialists clipped themselves to the rappelling lines and leaped out into wind and light, until only Sephiroth was left. He reached out to grasp the line, but the jump supervisor reached out to stop him. “Sir, you don’t have rappelling gear-”

“I don’t need it,” Sephiroth answered, as gently as he could - she wasn’t Shinra, there was no way she could have known. Even now her eyes were filled with doubt. “Trust me,” Sephiroth asked, but didn’t wait to see if she did. He turned, grasped the line and stepped out into empty dawn sky.

With his gloves as his only shield, Sephiroth slid down the line, his naginata rattling in its back sheath. Below, his borrowed squad was already rushing away from the landing site to form up nearby, so that was one less thing to worry about as the ground rushed up to greet him. Sephiroth clenched his teeth and braced himself for the impact, tightening his grip on the line to slow his fall _just enough._

It was a soft landing by his standards - only a minor crack in the asphalt beneath his boots. “...that is so cool,” he heard one of the squad mutter.

His comm unit crackled. _“Squad 7-”_ His borrowed squad rippled with tension, so apparently that was them. _“-sweep southeast to Outpost 19, then work your way inward when Squad 22 arrives to relieve you.”_

“Understood,” the captain responded. “Squad 7, move out!”

Squad 7 formed up and started moving, taking an eastward route; Sephiroth chose a more northward road. One of his guides - the woman who’d spoken to him in the airship - called after him. “Where’re you going?”

“Straight for the biggest monster,” Sephiroth called back over his shoulder.

“Didn’t you hear the briefing?” she protested. “We’re supposed to stay together!”

 _We-_ as though he were one of them. Sephiroth’s skin shivered, the pull of _monsters ahead_ amplified by the Pre-emptive at his wrist. “I’m not trained for group tactics,” he said, eyes pulling northward again.

Their captain spoke to the protester in a voice pitched to carry to the whole squad and not much further, so of course Sephiroth heard it clearly. “He’s not one of ours, Mackenzie.”

“I know, but-!”

“Enough,” the captain interrupted on an exasperated huff. “We have work to do and wrangling him is above my paygrade. Now _move out.”_

They obeyed. So did Sephiroth, on his own mission.

*

Pre-emptive Materia gave the user only the barest impression of surrounding monsters, but it had the advantage over a Sense of not needing to be aimed. Sephiroth had used both over the course of his life, and preferred the former. He had a photographic memory - or had, once, before Jenova had made hash of it - and knew the weaknesses of every monster he might encounter before he ever engaged them. By the time he was in range for a Sense, it was superfluous.

He sensed monsters - weak spots of malevolence - ahead and behind, and headed for the thickest cluster of them toward the center of the city. Wisps of poison gas began to reach him, stinging his eyes. They were streaming a bit by the time he saw his first Brain Pod, but he’d been exposed to worse as a boy and didn’t lose focus as the Pods, sensing meat, converged around him from their grimy hiding places.

Sephiroth wrapped himself in the protection of magic and drew his naginata. The nearest Pod was swelling, preparing for a toxic belch - he took a deep breath, held it, and charged, beheading the monster in one slash before it could complete the attack. The swollen body rolled, gas slowly leaking from the stump. Sephiroth turned, the blade of his naginata flashing out like a lick of deadly flame, and swept away the monsters attempting to flank him. If he thought of his weapon like a sword, but with only the tip useable, it was easy.

The engagement ended with Sephiroth untouched and the street littered with round, gassy corpses. The awareness of monsters pulsed at his temples, stronger now, their aggressiveness building as the humans resisted their advance. Sephiroth scanned the road ahead, preparing to move on.

A block away, a door opened. An older man peered out, his shadow stretching long over the road. “Holy,” he muttered, squinting at the Brain Pod corpses in the road. Then he spotted Sephiroth. “Holy!” he blurted, and disappeared, slamming the door behind him.

Sephiroth sighed and moved on.

*

Two monster swarms and a remarkably jumpy juvenile Hell House later, something big and angry hit Sephiroth’s enhanced senses so hard he stumbled.

 _This Materia must be more powerful than I thought,_ he realized, putting a hand over his wrist as if that could muffle the magic. He couldn’t just sense the monster’s presence at a distance, he could pinpoint its location and taste its power like scratchy pollen at the back of his throat. If it was plant-based, it would explain the odd profusion of monsters suddenly erupting out of seemingly nowhere. Monsters often organized themselves into loose hierarchies with the largest, strongest monster or “boss” at the top, but plant boss systems were unique. Plant monsters produced fruit or shoots or seeds, which became food sources for other monsters, who in turn sometimes became food sources for the boss - thus creating their own micro-ecosystem. It would explain where the monster swarm was coming from - within Midgar rather than from the outer borders of Edge. Often the lesser beasts came to regard the host plant as their territory and defend it fiercely, to the detriment of any humans unfortunate enough to come too close. He’d learned about the dynamic as a child; once he’d referred to the plant monster at the center of the cycle as ‘the root of the problem’ and Hojo had just _stared_ , and his eyes were so cold -

_-piercing keen, a white-hot needle of pain stabbing through his skull-_

...he was on the ground, one hand clutching his head. It was a few moments before the ringing in his ears eased enough that he could hear the comm on his wrist speaking.

_“-anyone past Zone 3, we have eyes on the big one and we need all available units to make their way here as soon as possible! East edge of the Midgar Hole, directly across from-”_

That was all Sephiroth needed to hear. His headache would just have to come along for the ride - the root of the problem was within his senses. “This is Sephiroth. I’m en route,” he transmitted, and dragged himself upright.

Comm chatter fell silent, aside from a quiet “oh my grandfather’s gods” that would have been lost in the static a moment ago. Sephiroth strode away, ignoring the deafening silence until, a block and a half later, a mechanical beep and Reeve’s voice broke it. _“Sephiroth, what are you doing?”_

Though he knew Reeve couldn’t see him, Sephiroth pointed back at the cooling corpse of the Hell House. “I’m _helping!”_

 _“...all right,”_ Reeve said after a long pause. Sephiroth grunted and kept going. _“You know what you’re doing. Just be careful - I’m getting reports of paralysis as well as poison. That monster’s not one we recognize.”_

“Understood.” With an effort, Sephiroth reined his temper in. Just because he had a headache - “Civilians in the area?”

_“They’ve been instructed to stay inside their homes. They don’t always listen.”_

It could have been his imagination, but Reeve sounded amused, even approving. It didn’t make sense, but then sometimes Sephiroth forgot Reeve was a civilian himself, after a fashion. “Understood,” he answered again. “I’ll report again when the monster is down.”

 _“Be careful,”_ Reeve warned again, and the comm unit beeped, indicating it had switched over to the more general WRO frequency again. Chatter had started up again, but this time Sephiroth paid it no mind. He had his orders. He kept moving, walking to conserve his energy but never slowing or stopping until the buildings around him lost their facades of brick or wood and became naked reclaimed metal. The junker district again - it seemed he was destined to hunt monsters here.

_At least I have my boots this time, Zack._

The pollen-taste was growing stronger. The air was hazed with it, and Sephiroth hoped that the inhabitants of this area - his mind drifted back to the old woman, her grandson, and the redheaded boy he’d saved - had closed their windows as well as their doors. Breathing this for too long couldn’t be healthy for _(humans)_ civilians. Nevertheless, Sephiroth forged ahead. The darker the air became, the closer he knew he was approaching his target.

Contacts bloomed in his Materia-sense, a pack of Zenenes that had been lost in the background noise of the powerful entity ahead. Sephiroth readied his weapon, expecting to be attacked all the more fiercely for daring to trespass so close to their boss, but the Zenene pack emerging from an alley only halted, stared at him a moment, and then melted away in another direction.

Sephiroth thought about going after them - every monster left alive was a potential human death - but the urgency of the fight ahead pounded at him, and so he let them go. Surely the WRO squads at his back would mop them up; it was more strategically advantageous for him to focus on the boss, the monster they likely _couldn’t_ fight. He kept moving.

_// come //_

The wreckage of Midgar loomed in the near distance, veiled by the haze. Ahead, there were shouts, the high whistle of magic being drawn forth, the clamor of feet. Sephiroth broke into a jog, naginata clutched in his hand.

_// come //_

The fern-covered hulk of shoulders rose into his view first. A WRO specialist stumbled past, clutching his middle and gagging. Sephiroth ignored him - _target acquired._

_// yes //_

Sephiroth turned a corner and at last beheld the boss plant. In form it was humanoid, until the point at which its limbs forgot what they were supposed to be. Its legs dissolved into a mass of vines, one arm split into branches that flexed like tentacles, and spikes crowned its head and shoulders, rising above a mass of bracken like a forest floor. Its head swelled from its shoulders like a grotesque mushroom, glowing faintly gold. In the haze it almost seemed the monster had a halo.

“There you are,” Sephiroth hissed, and recast his Barrier. The monster shook off its attackers - WRO members desperately trying to pick the thing apart with naginata, short sword, gun, or magic - and turned, as attuned to Sephiroth as Sephiroth was to it. Slime gleamed on the pavement where it moved.

_// you are me //_

“There’s only room for one monster in Edge,” Sephiroth answered the thing, setting himself to charge.

_ “Sir, be careful! That thing’s got some kind of paralytic-” _

_// come // to // me /////_

The head shifted. Sephiroth blinked, his eyes gritty with pollen. Suddenly, gray vines like hair lashed forth from the creature’s head, and the face was his own.

 _”B-gh-brothrrrrr,”_ it slurred.

Sephiroth stood alone, his naginata falling from nerveless fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drags self over the finish line, promptly expires*


	17. Chapter 16: Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle isn't over just because the monster's dead.

A thousand blades tore through him at once. His structure cut to ribbons, he felt himself collapse. As he fell he caught a glimpse of fury-lit blue eyes behind the dizzying flash of steel.

_Cloud._

He hit pavement. Gravel bit into his cheek, and he remembered he was _Sephiroth,_ not the shapeshifting plant-monster before him; that Cloud's final Limit slashed _its_ flesh, not his own. _This time._

He dragged himself painfully to his hands and knees, staggered by the weight of his own body, blinded by his hair. The thing's pain battered at him, ripping through his gut as it died, and _oh, was that a familiar sort of pain._ He fumbled at the catches of his bracer with that damnable Pre-emptive, sobbing for breath; tore it off, flung it away. The phantom pain died, leaving him deafened by the silence between his ears.

The monster was on the ground, the last of its life leaking from its misshapen bulk. The face that echoed his own was darkening and peeling away, sloughing off like old bark. Sephiroth's stomach clenched and he turned away, swallowing against the sudden burn of bile in the back of his throat.

Familiar boots hit the ground near him. Sephiroth flinched. "...Cloud," he croaked out.

"Yeah." Cloud knelt, caught Sephiroth's chin, but didn't apply any pressure. "Come on," he said, and his voice was strangely gentle, "look at me."

Shame warred with instinctive obedience; obedience won. Cloud's face was close to his, far too calm for the situation, and unlike Sephiroth's own diminished Mako gleam Cloud's eyes shone brighter than ever. The man was _soaking_ in magic - how many Materia did he have equipped? "Hm," escaped Cloud's throat at last, and he let go.

'Hm' was not the 'don't worry, collapsing after seeing a monster take your face is perfectly normal and has nothing to do with alien viruses' Sephiroth had been hoping for, but it wasn't the sudden severing of his head from his body that he'd been fearing either, so Sephiroth supposed he'd take what he was given and be grateful for it. He sat up on his knees, clasping his hands to the bridge of his nose. He felt _awful,_ stiff and feverish, as though he were in the grip of the chocobo pox again. "...ugh," escaped him, and Cloud let out a soft _huff_ of amusement.

"Come on," he urged. "We need to clear the area."

Sephiroth nodded miserably. Far from being the engine of death he was created to be, now it seemed he was no better than a civilian, getting in the way in a crisis. He let Cloud guide him to his feet, didn't protest the grip on his arm that steered him away. "Was that the only...?" he managed to ask.

"Don't worry about that now."

They stepped over the curb and into the shade of an awning. In slow fits and starts Sephiroth became aware that this was a medical station, and that he was being guided into a plastic folding chair. "He got a faceful of that paralyzing pollen," Cloud was telling the medic bending to check his pulse.

Long training kept Sephiroth from jerking back. "I did not."

"You did," Cloud contradicted flatly.

"No, you don't understand. I don't-" Sephiroth grunted as a penlight shone in his eye. "I don't _get_ paralyzed."

The penlight moved to his other eye, then away, leaving him blinking away the spots and squinting up at Cloud. "Yeah, I noticed I didn't have to carry you here," the man retorted, "but there is no possible way you're not affected by that much pollen."

"I am not-" Magic washed over him, lime-tart and water-cool, and if he hadn't already been sitting down his knees would have buckled. "Oh," he blurted, and prayed that hadn't sounded like a moan but _oh merciful gods that was such a relief._ He slid lower in the chair as his muscles loosened from their tight, feverish knots.

"Told you," Cloud muttered. "Now stay here and try not to growl at the nice medic. I'll be back once my quadrant's clear."

"I'm not helpless, Cloud, I can still fight!" Sephiroth was surging to his feet again, brushing the medic aside, only to be paralyzed again in an instant by Cloud's bright-shine glare.

"Stay," the young hero repeated. "And don't think we're not going to talk about what happened out there."

Stomach in knots, Sephiroth sank back down. The medic pressed a water bottle into his hands as Cloud marched off, sword bouncing gently against his back. "There's not much left to do," the medic told him, presumably trying to be comforting. "That big mushroom-head was the biggest threat, it's just cleanup at this point."

"Why isn't Cloud affected by the pollen," Sephiroth muttered, fiddling with the bottle cap.

She gave him a shrug. "He has some kind of magic ribbon that protects him from things like that, like a purple-Materia Esuna. He showed me once but I couldn't make heads or tails of how it worked."

"...hn."

A useful item. If his body was going to betray him like this again, as seemed likely, he would have to see about acquiring one. If his mind betrayed him... well, the solution wasn't likely to be as simple as a permanent Esuna, but he'd prefer that over cold steel.

*

_"In a statement over PHS yesterday, WRO head Reeve Tuesti assured reporters that the monster outbreak was contained and that normal business could safely resume. He went on to praise the brave men and women of the WRO Monster Response teams and the civilian volunteers who aided them in both combat and non-combat roles, including representatives from Anchor Base and their fellow ex-Soldier, Edge's own Cloud Strife. The final casualty totals were eight dead, thirty-four wounded, nearly twice that of the last monster outbreak ten months ago. Director Tuesti attributes this to the unusual origin point of the outbreak..."_

Sephiroth breathed out slowly. The _Midgar Times_ hadn't changed: sober, responsible, reassuringly dry reporting, delivering the salient facts without a hint of editorializing. He'd grown up reading the _Times,_ when he could get ahold of it, and it was a relief to see their usual high standards hadn't changed. They'd even kept their name.

Sephiroth glanced up from the newspaper shelf. The clerk at the convenience store counter was continuing to loudly ignore him, so he put the _Times_ back and picked up the next paper along.

_"EDGE UNDER ATTACK! Eyewitness Accounts of Monsters With The Face of Terror Itself! WRO Director Suspiciously Silent As The Mad General Summons His Monstrous Siblings! ...by Diana L. May."_

...The _Gaian Weekly_ hadn't changed either.

"Hey." 

Sephiroth put the _Weekly_ back quickly - sign of a guilty conscience. "...yes?"

The clerk shifted uncomfortably. "Are you gonna want to buy anything in the next five minutes? I'm on my own 'til ten and I gotta use the restroom."

"...oh. ...go ahead."

The clerk gratefully fled, leaving Sephiroth alone with the newspapers. Sephiroth tried to be interested in the new issues of the _Farm Post-Dispatch_ and _Chocobo Fancy_ , but inevitably he was drawn back to the _Weekly_ again. Next to the screaming article title was a picture of the boss-plant he'd faced and been defeated by. The picture was smeary with shadow and pixellation, clearly taken by a PHS camera at a distance, but they'd managed to capture the moment in which the monster had revealed its true face. Near the bottom of the frame was a human figure, long silver braid standing out starkly from the mottled shadow of the surroundings. Sephiroth stared at his own image, but could find nothing monstrous about it. No wings. No tentacles. The absence was not reassuring.

Despite his better judgement, Sephiroth opened the paper. Inside, ads for dubious products and herbal supplements flanked the _Gaian Weekly's_ latest dissection of current events. _"The latest shocking and tragic event to hit our beloved city of Edge,"_ it began, _"was a monster assault in the very heart of the city, coincidentally just where those poor people live who are most neglected by the WRO. At the center of the conflict was the Mad General himself, clad in WRO gear. Loyal readers will remember this publication's exposé on Sephiroth's return to the ruins of his city - now it seems his bloody work has begun. Eight fine upstanding citizens lie dead now, victim to Sephiroth's fellow test-tube monsters, and Director Reeve Tuesti and the WRO have nothing to say to us but 'return to business'. Why do they continue to shelter this clear and present danger..."_

 _That's enough._ Sephiroth clapped the paper closed, his empty stomach rebelling. The accusations were nothing, but now he saw the shape of the fear that had driven him out of Aeris's church. Reeve was right - the _Weekly_ clearly had some sort of vendetta against WRO, and was now using Sephiroth as their cudgel. He ought to have stayed hidden -

...wait.

Sephiroth opened the paper again, squinted at the page. No, it wasn't his imagination...

_...oh, blast!_

He was in motion instantly, paper crumpled tight in his hand, forgetting in his haste that he'd forgotten to pay for it.

*

"Excuse me! Do you have any comment on-"

"No," Sephiroth threw over his shoulder, and hopped the fence into Tifa's backyard in one bound, leaving the reporter in the dust behind him. He nearly collided with the back door, thumped on it, and when Tifa swung it open he blurted, "Is Barret here?"

"Yes, why-" Tifa was already moving aside to admit him, and Sephiroth plunged past her. "What's happened?" she demanded, giving chase. Sephiroth didn't answer, saving his breath for the moment he found Barret on the sofa with his morning coffee, shoved the paper at him, and announced, "Diana May is in league with Scarlet."

"Wha?" Barret shuffled the handful of paper he suddenly found himself with.

"What?" Tifa echoed. "Sephiroth, sit down. Start from the beginning."

It occurred to Sephiroth then what a raving madman he must look. He bit his tongue and allowed Tifa to usher him to the overstuffed recliner. "The article refers to me as 'test-tube monster'," he explained more slowly, though he vibrated with nervous energy. "That was always Scarlet's nickname for me, when she thought I couldn't hear her. A reference to the mako tubes I was often confined to-" he saw Tifa and Barret exchange glances - "which most people never knew about, so it's not possible for Miss May to come up with that phrase on her own. Or at least highly unlikely."

He was speaking too quickly again; as soon as he paused to breathe, Tifa broke in. "Does that mean Scarlet knows how to - how mako tubes work? If that's true, she could have been the one who released those monsters in Corel after all."

Sephiroth grunted a laugh. "Hojo was jealous of his secrets, but that never stopped Scarlet. I'm sure she could figure out mako tubes on her own, and use them to her own ends."

A loud groan and a violent rustle of paper - Barret was all but doubled over where he sat, crumpling the _Weekly_ in his hands. "She played me!" he half roared. "I got played by a goddamn teenager!"

"Scarlet was the one behind it," Sephiroth tried to soothe. "She was just using Miss May as her proxy." Barret just groaned again.

"But why..." Tifa sank down on the arm of the sofa next to Barret. "Does the _Weekly_ really hate the WRO that much? I thought they just did it to sell papers."

"Scarlet's the one we should be asking 'why'," Barret growled into his hands. "Goddammit!" He chucked the paper, now a compact ball, across the room. It hit the floor and rolled by the door just as it opened.

"...uh oh," Cloud observed, taking in all three of them.

"Cloud!" Barret burst out, as Sephiroth rose to his feet. "You're never gonna believe this."

Cloud stooped to pick up the crumpled ball. He was sheened with fresh sweat, clearly having just come in from a run. "Can't be worse than the gauntlet of reporters I just ran," he commented, and un-crumpled the paper. "...oh."

"Sephiroth thinks Scarlet's behind these articles," Tifa volunteered, and Sephiroth tried not to squirm as Cloud glowered at the paper in his hands as though he would set it on fire. "Apparently this article uses - an unflattering nickname for him that Scarlet used to use. If it's true..."

"Then I messed up big time." Barret flung his hands up. "Wasted a whole week chasing nothing! I was sure I was onto something with the barkeep at the Laughing Tonberry."

"The wha-"

"Don't ask," Cloud ordered him, and Sephiroth shut his mouth. "Okay. We're laying low for the day. Kids still inside?"

"Asleep last I checked," Tifa confirmed. "Not for much longer though. Do we have a plan?"

"I'm going back to that damn office," Barret announced. "There's gotta be someone I can shake until Scarlet's location falls out." His flesh hand flexed in agitation; the prosthetic remained still and relaxed on his knee.

"Have you told Reeve about this?" Cloud asked, and Sephiroth tried not to startle too obviously at being directly addressed.

"No, I came straight here," he admitted. "Should I have?"

Cloud shook his head. "No, but call him. Not now," he corrected when Sephiroth moved toward the phone. "What did the article call you anyway?"

Sephiroth swallowed. "...test-tube monster," he muttered with ill grace.

Cloud's lips pressed together. "Right. Barret? Shake them extra hard."

Barret flashed an approving grin; while Sephiroth was still trying to puzzle that out, Tifa shooed Cloud upstairs to shower. "Have you eaten?" she asked Sephiroth briskly.

"The WRO medics made sure I ate before they would discharge me," Sephiroth grimaced. "They're much stricter than the Shinra medics ever were."

"Good for them." Of course, Tifa was on the medics' side. She did offer Sephiroth coffee, though, which Sephiroth gratefully accepted. He didn't look forward to facing Reeve's reaction without the comfort of stimulants.

*

Reeve was, as expected, exasperated, but when Sephiroth had to say the phrase a third time the Director was at least sympathetic. He must have heard it before - _before._ Marlene and Denzel came downstairs with Cloud and promptly claimed Sephiroth for cartoon-watching while Cloud had his breakfast and Tifa and Barret argued out adjustments to their battle plan. 'Cartoons' turned out to be confusing and loud, but they were an excuse for him to sit still and out of the way for a while. Marlene and Denzel curled into his sides with their bowls of cereal, content simply to have him sitting there. Sephiroth tilted his head down and let the noise and warmth wash over him. _I'm not Shinra's monster anymore,_ he told himself with each breath. _I'm not theirs._

_...Right now I'm Marlene's and Denzel's._

Tifa left the battle council to get the _Blue Dolphin's_ soup of the day started - "gonna be a busy night," she declared, and Cloud grunted agreement. "Kids, one more show, then homework." Marlene and Denzel groaned, but settled down once Tifa'd gone downstairs. Sephiroth made himself breathe past the knot in his stomach. One more show, then Cloud would demand answers of him, as he'd promised the day before. He still had no idea what he was going to say.

A loud _crack_ of glass, and Tifa's voice, high with panic. _"Cloud!"_

Cloud was off like a shot, grabbing the Materia-equipped shoulder bracer he always kept hanging by the door, almost knocking his coffee onto his WRO paperwork until Barret caught the cup. "Stay here," Sephiroth ordered Marlene and Denzel, pulling away from them to run after Cloud.

"Stay!" Barret echoed, thundering down the steps behind him.

Tifa was in the dining room, surrounded by broken glass, her initial panic giving way to rage. "They almost hit me in the _head,_ " she snarled, and only then did Sephiroth spot the chipped brick at her feet. _I'll put a brick through your window,_ echoed a rasped, angry memory. "They drove by in a town car. I couldn't see the driver."

"I got it." Cloud was pulling a PHS out of his pocket. "Sephiroth, go upstairs and stay with the kids. Barret, sorry, but we'll need you on security detail tonight. I'll handle back of house if -"

"It's back!"

Sephiroth, halfway to retreating upstairs, jerked around to catch a glimpse of a gray car past the shattered window, and a human figure leaning out of the passenger side to throw something. _"Down!"_ he barked, but Cloud and Tifa and Barret were already diving for cover.

The object sailed through the broken window, bounced off a table, and hit the ground already hissing out acrid gas.

"Outside!" Tifa yelled. Barret grabbed Sephiroth's shirt and pushed him toward the door, which was fortunate because Sephiroth's eyes and nose were suddenly in _open revolt._ He stumbled coughing into open air and glared through the fiery sting at the receding bumper of the car that had attacked him. Its license plate had been removed - just as well, as his vision was so blurred he couldn't have read it.

"Keep going!" Cloud's voice, and a rough hand shoved him forward. Sephiroth lurched into motion again, throat closing in protest as the tear gas reached them again. He'd forgotten how rough this was - the SOLDIER's sole weakness, with their enhanced senses, and though he could fight through it if he had to, _gods, where was oxygen._

"The-" he choked out.

"Go!" Cloud rasped like a dragon.

"But-"

"Dammit-!" Cloud began to cough, and over that Sephiroth heard Tifa's voice ring out. 

_"I've got the kids! Barret, pull the fire escape!"_

_...should have trusted them._ Now it was Sephiroth's turn to grab Cloud by the back of the shirt and haul him away, both of them struggling for oxygen against the rebellion of their own respiratory systems.

Two blocks away, the air was breathable. Cloud and Sephiroth leaned against the wall of an apartment building and hacked and coughed themselves breathless, shaking hands crushed to burning eyes. "I'd forgotten," Sephiroth managed between heaving breaths, "how bad Marlboro gas was."

Cloud's red-rimmed eyes stared at him. "You - you've been _gassed_ before?" he choked out.

Sephiroth opened his mouth to respond and was hit with a fit of coughing, so he just nodded instead. When he was able to take a breath, he asked, "Haven't you?"

"No!" Cloud exploded. "That's crazy!"

"Hn. Well, it's effective."

Cloud's outraged sputter turned into another coughing fit. Sephiroth covered his mouth against a laugh, but his throat closed mid-chortle and then he was coughing too, and still trying to laugh, and Cloud breathlessly aimed a punch at his shoulder that went wide and laughed and coughed even harder, and then the two of them were on the ground propping each other up while their bodies tried to remember what oxygen was.

The paparazzi found them around then.

"Mister Strife? We'd like to _ack,"_ the reporter blurted when Cloud flew to his feet, but there were a dozen more behind him and not all of them were so easily startled. They fanned out, and if Cloud and Sephiroth hadn't been decidedly compromised by the effects of the gas they could have avoided being trapped by a wall of smart blazers and press badges. "Mister Strife," they surged as Cloud edged back from them, wheezing. "Mister Strife, can we - just a few - any comment on-"

Sephiroth rising to his feet made the flow halt, but only for a moment before it redoubled - and Sephiroth understood that the pause was not fear but that of a hunter sighting prey. "Sephiroth!" blurted the one who'd been startled by Cloud, and another barked "General!" like Heidegger and shoved a recorder at him. "Do you have any comment-"

"No," Cloud interrupted, flinging an arm out as though to shield Sephiroth from their questions. "Go away."

"-comment on the recent monster attack?" The reporters forged ahead, and Sephiroth's skin crawled at the way they looked at him, like Scarlet at her most covetous. "We've received reports of a monster with your face-"

"Yes, I read it in the _Gaian Weekly,"_ Sephiroth growled before he could stop himself. Cloud shot him a warning glare.

"Sir!" The reporter who'd spoken drew herself up. "I work for a _respectable_ publication."

"Then respectfully," Cloud said loudly, "go _away._ All of you! We just got gas-bombed, for Odin's sake-"

"Really? By who?"

"Dammit," Cloud growled, coughed, sucked in a breath, "that's not what I-"

"What about the others?" called a reporter from the back of the pack. "The other monsters?"

Cloud's face creased in confusion. "What about them?"

The reporter glanced at Sephiroth, his eyes speculative, and Sephiroth was suddenly struck breathless for a different reason than his swollen throat. Numb with dread, he could only stand stock-still as the reporter clarified. "The other ones with, um, General Sephiroth's..."

"Likeness," supplied another. "We have a few photos. Zenenes, mostly. Is there some kind of connection-"

"No," Cloud barked, but his fierceness was all for Sephiroth now, and Sephiroth shrank within himself.

"But, Mister Strife-"

The reporters closed in, sensing blood. Cloud grabbed Sephiroth's wrist in a punishing grip. The ground under his feet began to shimmer and hum with the stirring of magic. The reporters drew back - did they think Cloud was about to attack them? - but Cloud's face remained sharp-chiseled stone as the Exit spell took hold.

In the blink of an eye, they were somewhere else.

*

Sephiroth sat on the edge of the roof while Cloud furiously fiddled with his phone. He was fairly sure it was Tifa Cloud was texting, but whether this was a "still alive, home soon" text or an "I'm about to kill Sephiroth, bring my sword" text he couldn't know and didn't want to ask. Below him, Aeris's church was empty and quiet, its doors barred and sealed with police tape. Its walls were marred with two Masamune marks.

Cloud let out a slow breath, snapped his phone shut and pocketed it. "Monsters," he said without turning around, "plural?"

Sephiroth's shoulders couldn't get any closer to his ears, but he felt his back straining as they tried. "....yes."

"How many?"

"In total? I have no way of knowing. Do you want me to extrapolate-"

"Don't. Start," Cloud hissed through his teeth, "that analytical crap with me. How many did you kill and _hide from me?"_

His voice cracked like a lash of lightning and Sephiroth's muscles all tightened at once. "...three or four," he admitted in a whisper, "not counting the one from yesterday."

"Three or four?"

"I... I'm still not sure about the Hell House."

"The-!" Cloud's breath exploded from him. Sephiroth heard his boots stomping over the tiles of the roof, coming closer; he ducked his head away, but Cloud took his shoulder and forced him to turn. "Tell me the truth," Cloud demanded. "Was it just paralysis yesterday? That had you freezing up until I took that thing down?"

_Sword slicing him to ribbons-_

Slowly, mutely, _pleading,_ Sephiroth shook his head. Cloud's mouth stretched in a grimace of anger. "And the other monsters that looked like you?"

Sephiroth nodded, this time forcing himself to speak. "I could - track the Hell House's location. I felt it. I thought it was Zack's doing." Cloud's glare deepened and Sephiroth looked away. "I was lying to myself."

"You lied to me!" Cloud shoved at his shoulder, rose to his full height; Sephiroth, robbed of balance, could only cringe and brace himself against the rough tile. "I thought you understood. The only way this works is if you are _completely honest with me._ I trusted you with our _kids!_ "

 _I do understand! I do..._ But Sephiroth had lied, hidden crucial information from his commander, and this rage was deserved. He turned his face away, letting his hair hide him as Cloud loomed over him.

"Say something, damn you," Cloud hissed.

Sephiroth swallowed. His throat and eyes had begun to burn again. "I have nothing to say."

Cloud's leg shifted, and for a horrible moment Sephiroth thought he was about to be kicked off the roof. But Cloud retreated from him instead, every breath a growl, power _snapping_ in the air around him. "I'm calling Reeve. You need a more secure facility."

Suddenly being kicked off the roof sounded like a friendly caress. "You're - imprisoning me."

"Until we get to the bottom of those monsters." Cloud pulled out his phone again. "Until I can be sure of you."

Sephiroth shut his eyes tightly. _Fury-lit eyes, glowing blue searing into him-_

"Reeve, it's Cloud. About that monster yesterday-"

_-torn to shreds by a thousand blades-_

_"-we've begun to receive reports from other cities, Cloud. Monsters with - similar features."_

"...shit. What is going on?"

Sephiroth understood, suddenly, exactly what was going on. Aeris was wrong. Jenova wasn't dead.

He dared to lift his head, look at Cloud. The younger man had his back turned, all his attention on Reeve's voice on the other end of the line - Corel, Junon, Costa del Sol. He'd taken off his shoulder bracer, draped it over the church's only intact gable nearby. Sephiroth took in a slow breath, let it out nearly silently. Took another. Held it.

Crept toward the gable.

"That's exactly why - Reeve, you didn't see him yesterday. He was compromised. How long before _hey!_ " Cloud turned sharply at the rasp of leather, but he couldn't get to Sephiroth fast enough to stop him. Magic had always been his gift.

"I'm sorry," Sephiroth whispered, kneeling with the Exit sinking into his palm. In a blaze of light he disappeared.

*

_Yesterday a sea monster beached itself on Junon's northern coast, coating the area with acid. Its species was unknown. A lone monster hunter dispatched it, but declined to give his name and disappeared soon after. At time of writing, there were no fatalities, and the six people injured were listed in stable condition._

_*_

_The Gold Saucer Chocobo Run today was interrupted by the largest flock of griffins ever recorded. Ten chocobos and six jockeys were slain. Amazingly, the griffin attack was halted by a single man, whose identity is still unknown._

_*_

_Cloud Strife has offered a reward for any information as to the whereabouts of Sephiroth, former commander of Shinra Military Operations. The two have been seen together in Edge, and were speculated to be romantically linked._

_*_

_A lone magic-wielder saved a train from an unknown species of monster on the railway above Corel. He refused to identify himself..._

_*_

_...horrifying monsters rising from the desert were slain before they could threaten..._

_*_

_...witnesses noted a similarity of feature between the monster and its hunter..._

_*_

_...there is speculation that the mysterious hunter may be..._

_*_

_...identity unknown._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I had some doodles for you, but I need a better hosting solution to be able to show them. I'll work on that and maybe stick an interlude art chapter in here.


	18. Chapter 17: Chattering Greenwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth's flight takes him to the last place he ever expected to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH. Not late this month! *fistpump*

_Don't worry about me. I'm going to find Sephiroth._

_-Denzel_

*

The highlands above Cosmo Canyon had changed since last he'd been in the area - some calamity had left a shallow crater where once there were high cliffs and tangled jungle, paradoxically making it easier to traverse. Still, Sephiroth could tell that few humans, if any, ventured this far.

Hunger, thirst and fatigue had long ceased to mean anything to Sephiroth. He hunted, he moved on, he hunted again, guided by the whispers scratching at the inside of his skull. The presence of humans drowned out those whispers, made him fuddled with memory and distracted by pain, but the monsters with his face were drawn to human settlements, so he had to endure it. It never lasted long - just until he made his kill, and then he could fade away again.

To his annoyance, his last battle had ended in a draw - his sword had glanced off the tough hide of the black dragon at the last, and it had taken advantage of Sephiroth's moment of unbalance to swat him to the earth and flee. Fortunately, Sephiroth had wounded it enough that it couldn't fly far, and so he was able to track it here to this forest untrespassed by humans.

Other hunters might have been tempted to leave it be at that. This was a _black dragon_ after all. But Sephiroth had seen how the dragon's eyes glowed green, and knew this was one of the infected. _His_ target. His mission. He wouldn't stop until it was dead.

Overhead, the sky darkened, storm clouds swallowing the light.

*

Despite the thick profusion of vegetation that might have impeded a large monster's progress, the dragon was proving difficult to track. Unfamiliar shapes wavered in Sephiroth's vision, the underbrush and the dark trunks of the trees breaking up his line of sight. Broken leaves and scraped bark led him in circles. Sephiroth leaned against a tree and closed his eyes.

_Thunder. The smell of impending rain. Darkness, edged with green. Hunger. Pain. Hunger. Hate._

He opened his eyes, skin crawling with revulsion and prickling with the fever that had dogged him for the last few days. He had his direction now. He pushed away from the tree and kept walking, his footsteps careful and deliberate lest the ground betray his eroding sense of balance. The sense of _hungerpainhate_ grew stronger, scraping the inside of his skull, and ahead, something rustled. Sephiroth dropped to a crouch in the underbrush, magic gathering in his hands, as the rustle grew to a crash and something small and furry launched itself out of the foliage and smacked into his chest amid a thin, high shriek. Sephiroth jerked, lifting a hand to fling it off, but then the creature lifted its head to fix him with wide, pleading eyes. _"Kupoooo!"_

At once, and against all reason, Sephiroth understood what he held. He'd never seen one, nor known anyone who had; Hojo had been convinced they were a myth; but they were so ubiquitous in folklore and fairy tale that even he couldn't help but recognize what it was. A moogle. A _baby_ moogle.

Dear gods.

Sephiroth rose, the baby moogle clinging to his shirt and trembling against his heart. "Little one, go hide," he said as gently as he could, but the frightened little creature only shook its head frantically and tightened its grip. Ahead, the shadows were gaining solidity, and a point of unnatural green light showed briefly through the foliage. Sephiroth grimly lifted his sword - a short and dented thing, borrowed from the unattended corpse of a desert guard - and folded his free hand over the baby moogle as the dragon’s head snaked out of the leaves where he could see it. Evidently, the beast had decided to stop running.

“Hang on,” he whispered to his passenger, and plunged his will into the blood of the Planet.

The Planet had been generous since he’d left Edge. Big Guard enveloped both warrior and passenger in shields against blows, magic, even time. Gravity loosened its grip on him and he leaped away from the dragon’s first snap, retorting with a flurry of Matra Magic missiles as the little moogle squealed in terror. The magic thundered against the dragon’s hide, searing flesh and scale. The wild and varied knowledge of monsters, cast by a monster.

The dragon, hampered by the trees, was an easy target, but by no means a docile one. It snapped and clawed at him, its rage pounding at the inside of Sephiroth’s head, and Sephiroth staggered under the force of it. His magic shield glimmered as the dragon’s claws swept through, inches from Sephiroth’s skin. “Damn you,” Sephiroth hissed. The moogle hiccupped. “…sorry, little one.”

The dragon, unimpressed, swiped at him again, its claws slamming into the earth where Sephiroth had been and digging furrows into it. Sephiroth landed in a crouch, wobbled and fell to one knee. The dragon’s head lashed forward, jaws open, and Sephiroth threw a Matra barrage into its slavering face.

As it reeled, Sephiroth awkwardly scrambled back, his arm locked over the baby moogle’s shaking little form. It shrieked when thunder _cracked_ overhead, louder than the rumbles of before, and the skies opened up to spill an ocean’s worth of rain on the highland jungle. Sephiroth sputtered, curling over his small passenger as the canopy dripped giant fat drops of cold rain on them. It cooled his fever but did nothing for visibility or surefootedness. The dragon appeared to agree; it snarled skyward, neck pulling into a serpentine coil. Sephiroth rose, the pale energy of the Planet gathering around him, determined to take advantage of the dragon’s distraction.

The dragon snapped to face him again, snarling mouth suddenly filled with light that evaporated the raindrops to steam even as they fell. Sephiroth gulped and turned his back, shielding the baby moogle with his own body - all he had time for, not even _he_ could dodge light itself - bracing himself as the dragon’s Laser hit.

He must have screamed. When the world returned, bleeding back to him like watercolor over a canvas of pain, the baby moogle was hysterical, crying at the top of its little voice and clinging to him so tightly that his shirt was starting to shred under tiny claws. Just as well, since it’d already shredded to nothing in the back. Sephiroth grunted, swallowed, and found his voice. “Shh,” he rasped, reaching up to painfully claw himself over the dirt away from the dragon. _Distance, I need distance…!_

The moogle’s wails reached a siren pitch. From the forest, an answering call. _“Kibo, kupo! We’re coming!”_

 _“Mama!”_ the little moogle shrieked.

 _Another moogle coming,_ Sephiroth realized. “Stay back!” he yelled. “Dragon!” He turned - somehow he’d kept ahold of his sword, for all the good it was doing him - and faced the dragon again, his back screaming in electric agony.

_“Who’s there? …Dragon!? Kupo!”_

“Dragon,” Sephiroth repeated, though his voice was going raspy and weak. “Don’t come near…” The dragon’s jaws were open, danger gleaming between its teeth. “Don’t. Not this one.”

He was going to die here. He was going to die again, a failure, a monster, but damn the beast it _wouldn’t take this one last life._ He dropped his sword, tore the tattered remains of his shirt free. The baby moogle scrabbled at his hands desperately, but couldn’t keep Sephiroth from using the last of his strength to toss it, shirt and all, gently into a nearby bush.

“Stay hidden,” he tried to say, but he had no idea if the baby moogle heard. His ears were filled with the roar of rain - no, it was the dragon’s roar, furious and fierce, as flitting shadows swarmed it from all directions. Lightning made the shadows go even stranger, sharp and fragmented; he thought he saw a moogle plunge a spear directly into the dragon’s witchlight eye before the thunder claimed him and that was the last he knew.

*

Sephiroth was gently roused from oblivion by something small, warm and fuzzy patting his cheek. He lay still, puzzling over his stubborn continued existence, as the fuzzy _something_ clambered up his shoulder, leaned over his chin and dropped a soft, fuzzy kiss on his nose.

“Mphf,” escaped him, and he opened his eyes to behold a small, wiggly ball of fluff that beamed at him as their eyes met.

“Helped!” declared Kibo the baby moogle, alive and well and clearly none the worse for wear. Sephiroth’s heart turned to water all at once. He tried to reach up to touch, to hold Kibo and reassure himself, but his hand barely twitched.

“Kibo, love, let him be.” The voice was cracked and brittle with age, and came from somewhere near the floor. Kibo left Sephiroth’s sight, and when Sephiroth turned his head to follow he saw his little passenger being embraced by an adult moogle - though even an adult only barely came up to his knee.

_Cloud - you’ll never believe this._

“Go on, now,” the visitor urged, giving Kibo a pat. “You still have lessons, kupo.” Kibo tottered off, but turned back to wave a tiny paw Sephiroth’s way. Sephiroth managed a wave back, barely a twitch of fingers, and Kibo squeaked in delight. “Ah, awake at last?” the elder moogle said. “That’s a relief. You had us worried for a while, kupo.”

The moogle alighted next to him, patted his forehead with a substantially larger but still small and fuzzy paw. Sephiroth scrunched his nose, tried to ask where he was, but all that came out was a croak that became a cough. The moogle shook their head disapprovingly. “You’ve got a lot of healing to do, kupo,” they observed once Sephiroth’s cough had settled down to a wheeze.

"D-dra... k-" His throat seized again and he winced.

Somehow the moogle understood. "The dragon has returned to the Planet. Its horns now decorate our meeting hall, kupo," they informed him. "No need to worry."

“How - how long…?”

“Two nights,” the moogle replied, and Sephiroth squirmed uncomfortably. “We healed your injuries - that healing spell on your Gaia’s Tear proved useful, I hope you don’t mind we used it - but when you wouldn’t wake up we feared we were too late. You must have been at the last of your strength. How do you feel now?”

“Dreadful,” Sephiroth mumbled, and received a pat on the forehead again. “Gaia’s…?”

“The crystal of magic. Do the wingless call it something else?” The moogle tilted their head, its little pom bobbling to one side. It was unbearably adorable, and Sephiroth closed his eyes in self-protection.

“Materia,” he murmured. “We call it Materia.”

“What a strange name, kupo.”

 _Gaia’s Tear_ was surely stranger, Sephiroth wanted to say, but darkness was rising up for him again, warm and comforting, and it didn’t seem worth the effort to fight it.

*

Kibo couldn't stay away, of course. The next time Sephiroth groggily opened his eyes there was a small moogle sitting on his knee, peeking hopefully up at him over a fold of blanket. "...hello," he croaked.

"Kupo!" Kibo responded enthusiastically, and clambered up his leg on all fours. Sephiroth lay very still as his visitor plomped down on his hipbone, made a displeased noise, and clambered up further to plomp on his stomach. "Kupo," Kibo repeated, and when all Sephiroth gave him was a dazed blink, _"Kupo!"_

"......kupo," Sephiroth mumbled, and that seemed to satisfy Kibo. He wiggled down into Sephiroth's blanket and proceeded to burble at him. Some of the words were even intelligible, but while Sephiroth was muzzily trying to puzzle out if Kibo was speaking a language exclusive to moogles or if there was something wrong with his auditory processing, he said 'kupo' back every time Kibo said it, and Kibo seemed perfectly content with that.

Movement to one side attracted his attention; he turned his head carefully, wincing at a spike of pain through his temples, to see an adult moogle entering with a bowl the size of her head whose contents steamed faintly. "Kibo, dear," she said with fond exasperation, and Kibo squeaked in response. "You must let him rest!"

"...he's fine," Sephiroth rasped. "Please don't send him away."

 _"Ku-_ po..." Kibo pleaded.

The adult moogle relented immediately. "Very well, kupo," she said, coming closer, "but if you want to sleep, you tell me and I'll take him back home. Kupo?"

"...kupo," Sephiroth responded cautiously, and Kibo squeaked in delight.

The moogle chuckled. "Quick study, kupo. Now can you sit up? I have some broth for you, if you can manage it." Sephiroth nodded and struggled semi-upright, the pile of cushions he lay on shifting under him with every movement.

The broth was warm and fragrant with herbs, and Sephiroth managed half the bowl before he had to stop. "Slowly, kupo," his nurse told him comfortingly. "Don't force yourself."

"I've never been this ill," Sephiroth confessed, balancing the half-full bowl in his lap. Kibo swished a paw in it, licked his fur, and made a face. "I don't know the proper response to it." Even the chocobo pox hadn't been this debilitating. Just itchy.

"The proper response is rest lots and drink lots, kupo," his caretaker assured him. "My name is Miyu; I'm Kibo's aunt. If you need anything at all, I'll be around, or it'll be Kapi or Pipa, the twins." Sephiroth nodded acknowledgement, and Miyu made a low purring sort of noise and reached out to pat his hand with a soft paw. "You protected one of our sweet little ones," she told him seriously, "and the whole village is grateful to you, kupopo. The least we can do is look after you while you get better, so don't worry about a thing. Kupo, Kibo?"

"Kupo!" Kibo chirped, waving his paws. Sephiroth ducked his head down, letting his hair hide his face.

*

Day and night passed seamlessly by, Sephiroth having little sense of time but for the changing quality of light in the hall they'd curtained off as his recovery chamber. His caretakers - for the moogles took it in shifts to watch him - treated him gently, but despite Miyu's words there was a wariness to their manner that Sephiroth thought he understood. For all he'd protected one of their little ones, he was still a stranger who'd come to their isolated home bearing weapons and magic. Their trust would not come so easily.

Well, that was all right. As soon as Sephiroth could stand on his own, he would leave them in peace.

Strangely, he got a concerned look from Miyu when he said as much to her. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" she wanted to know.

Sephiroth avoided her gaze. "I'm a hunter. I seek out - strong monsters. Enhanced ones that threaten people. The longer I stay here, the more people may be hurt or killed."

The moogle put her head to the side thoughtfully. "Our warriors face many dangers to protect our village too, but they don't do so without support from everyone else. Who supports you?"

 _And how did they allow you to get to such a state,_ went loudly unspoken. Sephiroth curled his fingers in the fur coverlet he was wrapped in, feeling the weakness and crushing exhaustion in his body acutely. "I have no support," he admitted. "I just hunt."

"Kupo," Miyu mused. Sephiroth was fairly sure that meant she disapproved.

*

The next time Sephiroth woke up, there were four baby moogles crawling on his blanket and squeaking at him, and Sephiroth rather suspected Miyu of orchestrating the whole thing.

*

"Should you be up, kupo?"

Probably not. "I am fit for purpose," Sephiroth gritted, one hand braced against the wall. Now that he was upright, more or less, he could see that the hall they'd been keeping him in was in actuality the inside of a hollow tree, only about half of it curtained off for his use. His mind shied away from trying to picture how massive the tree itself must be if this was only its trunk, but surely only the biggest tree in the forest would have been large enough to accommodate him. "If you would be so kind as to find my boots..."

Kapi, head nurse of the moogles, hovered uncertainly near the entranceway - nearly literally, by the fluttering of his wings. "I don't think that's a good idea, kupo," he demurred.

"I'm not going to leave," Sephiroth assured him. "I just want some fresh air. ...please."

Kapi sighed. "Wait right there."

Sephiroth did not obey. As Kapi fluttered off, Sephiroth resumed his determined march to the entrance of the tree-hall. The light from it was near-blinding after the restful dimness of his curtained-off nest, but as he neared it, his eyes adjusted and he was able to pick out details.

The tree he'd been kept in was as big around as Marlene and Denzel's bedrooms, and it was _nowhere near_ the biggest tree he could see. For a moment he was dazzled by trunks as wide as small _houses,_ before smaller details resolved themselves in his vision. Bridges and ladders made of wood or rope stretching from branch to branch, structures cradled in the branches that looked _grown_ rather than built, open hollows of every size, and all of it festooned with flags, wind chimes, and dangling poms made of some fiber dyed a cheery red. What he'd taken as a copse was a thriving village of moogles. They bustled and fluttered and bounced in every direction, called to each other and squeaked at their children and toddled importantly back and forth, and the cumulative effect was like a two-by-four of Adorable hitting Sephiroth right between the eyes.

"...I need to sit down," he muttered, and promptly did so.

Immediately after Kapi flutter-hopped to him, dragging his boots by their laces behind him. "I told you to stay!" the moogle scolded. "Now you've run all out of kupo."

"I'm fine where I am," Sephiroth argued faintly. "If I'm not in the way."

Kapi hesitated at that, his pom drooping to the level of his eartips. "...no, but let me get you something to sit on," he allowed at last. "No use letting you sit in the dirt getting all cold, kupo."

"...thank you."

Kapi brought him a waterproof woven-reed mat and a cushion, and tucked a blanket over his lap, and brought him some tea for good measure. Sephiroth accepted all of this, thanked him, and settled in to spending the afternoon people-watching. Well, moogle-watching. It hadn't been his goal, but clearly a brisk jog or even a pleasant walk wasn't happening today.

_It's been nearly two weeks already. What in the bright green hell is taking me so long to heal?_

He could not remain inconspicuous for long, but typically, it was the little ones who noticed him first. Sephiroth's knees were covered in squeaky little balls of poof in short order, Kibo clearly the ringleader among them, as he flutter-hopped up Sephiroth's arm and shoulder to perch, crowing, on his head.

"Kibo," Sephiroth sighed, putting his tea to one side, "you are not a hat."

"Kupo!"

"...yes, kupo." Sephiroth resigned himself to looking foolish, but Kibo was very warm on his head and the other little moogles arranged themselves quite happily on his lap. Two were old enough to speak coherently, and from them he learned that the town's name was Kakupipo, or Chattering Greengrove; that the moogles had lived here for a Very Long Time; and that he was _so shiny, kupo._

"Thank... you," he ventured, puzzling that one out, and Yipa and Rupi beamed at him and patted his hands. "Do you... like it here?"

What a strange question. How could you like or dislike something when it was all you knew? It was like asking a smaller Sephiroth if he liked mako. But Yipa giggled and Rupi bounced up in her enthusiasm. "'S nice!" she chirped. "There's a swingset and a library and kupo nut bushes!"

"Seff-kupo had kupo nuts?" Yipa wondered.

"I've had them in porridge," Sephiroth assured her.

"They're _best_ right off the bush," Yipa informed him breathlessly, and Rupi and the other baby moogles nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "Wanna come try?"

Sephiroth shook his head. "I'm not well enough to go anywhere, little one. I'm sorry."

The moogles exchanged stricken looks. "...We'll be right back!" Rupi announced, grabbed Yipa by the paw and dragged her off. Several of the moogles followed, possibly only for the lure of kupo nuts, leaving Kibo and a couple of the smaller ones to solidify their claim to him as a baby moogle perch.

"You're a very wiggly sort of hat," he informed Kibo, who'd flopped to his stomach on Sephiroth's head to bat at his hair.

"Whassa hat?" asked one of the moogles in his lap.

While Sephiroth was trying unsuccessfully to explain the concept, a couple of adult moogles toddled over. One he recognized as Miyu; the other was a stranger, until Kibo squealed "Mama!" and flew to her. Even Sephiroth understood that.

"My little kupo nut," Kibo's mother greeted, gentle paws stroking pale fur. "Are we behaving for Seph-kupo?"

"Kupo!"

"Good, kupo. Hello, Bibi and Kayan," she added, and Sephiroth's lapful of baby moogles chorused their greetings. "Hello, Sephiroth-kupo. I am Kupua, warrior of Kakupipo. I'm Kibo's mother."

Sephiroth bowed carefully where he sat. "Ma'am."

"Are you feeling better?"

"I'm told I'm mending." _Even if it's taking an age and a half._

Kupua tipped her head to one side, studying him quietly. "Sephiroth-kupo, may I hug you?"

"...what?" Sephiroth blinked as though he'd never heard the word before. "I... suppose?"

Instantly his arms were full of moogle, Kibo cuddled up squeaking between them. "Thank you, thank you so much for my baby's life," Kupua murmured into his neck, her pom brushing his cheek. "If you hadn't been there..."

"The dragon might not have come to your forest at all if I hadn't..." Sephiroth started to protest.

Kupua pulled back and tapped his nose sharply with a paw. "None of that, kupo. You didn't know we were here. You wouldn't have let the dragon retreat to a wingless village either, now would you?"

"Not if I could help it!"

Kupua beamed. "As I thought, kupo. It's only sensible." Another hug. "We moogles face all manner of fearsome monsters to protect our home. We are a proud warrior race, kupo. I understand your tactical choices."

Sephiroth thought of the moogles swarming the dragon, and of the spear-wielder who'd taken its eye just before Sephiroth had lost consciousness. Had that been Kupua? "...I regret that you had to step in, but - thank you, anyway."

Kupua patted his cheek. Her paw was soft. "You are kupo," she pronounced fondly. "I am glad you came to us in Kakupipo, whatever else happens. You'll remember that for me, won't you?"

Sephiroth glanced down, away from her gaze, and beheld Kibo nestling contentedly into his breastbone. "...yes, ma'am," he said, sure he was in no position to deny anyone anything, and it was lucky for him all they asked of him was to remember a phrase, wasn't it?

Even if it was only true because they didn't know him.

Miyu chimed in for the first time, her voice warmly amused. "I'm glad too. I wouldn't mind hearing a little of what the outside world is like."

"Story, story!" clamored Bibi and Kayan from Sephiroth's knees.

Sephiroth ducked behind his hair as Kupua withdrew, taking Kibo with her for further cuddles. "I'm only a hunter. I'm not very good at telling stories."

"Certainly not while you're healing, kupo!" Miyu assured him with a laugh. "Don't worry. Our young warriors sometimes explore the land outside our borders as a rite of passage, so we're not entirely ignorant, kupo."

"Ah, I still remember my first time out of the forest, kupo!" Kupua laughed. "I was dizzy the whole time. There's so much _sky._ "

"Lots of sky?" Bibi (or was it Kayan?) wondered.

"Lots and _lots_ and _kupo!_ " Kupua declared to them, and they wriggled in glee. "Oh, speaking of sky, I wonder..."

Miyu picked up the thread of her sister's thought almost immediately. "Oh, that? Well, maybe. I don't imagine hunters spend much time looking up, kupo."

"...what is it?" Sephiroth asked, and both moogles turned speculative looks his way.

"Well... I don't know if you wingless watch the sky like we do," Kupua mulled, "but... five years ago we all saw a... a _thing_ in the sky. Like another sun, a red one."

"It cast a wicked light on the land, kupo," Miyu added. "Oh, you three weren't born yet," she added to Kibo and his friends comfortingly. "But for a while the elders were saying it was the Crisis returned."

Sephiroth jerked where he sat. The baby moogles in his lap squeaked in startlement and he tried to apologize, but his throat had turned to stone and he couldn't get a word out. "Kupo?" Miyu drifted closer. "You look pale all of a sudden, kupo. Are you all right?"

"I," Sephiroth forced out. "I may know something about that event."

"Oh." Miyu put a paw to her mouth as Sephiroth pulled in on himself. "I'm sorry, kupo. Was it - was it bad?"

Sephiroth swallowed carefully. _Control, damn it._ "It was. But I will not speak of it in present company." He nodded to the Bibi and Kayan, who were gazing up at him in open uncomprehending worry.

Miyu and Kupua exchanged a speaking glance, Kupua's arms cuddling Kibo closer. "...kupo," Kupua agreed. "Some other time, then. Oh, here come the older cubs - they certainly look excited, kupo."

Sephiroth mentally locked his red-lit memories in a box marked Deal With It Later and welcomed Rupi and Yipa and their friends, who'd returned with so many kupo nuts between them that they could barely keep hold of them all. "Kupo nuts for Seph-kupo!" Rupi cheered.

"Kupo nuts for everyone," Sephiroth quickly corrected before this could get out of hand, not about to let himself be stuffed full of All The Kupo Nuts in front of his hosts and small moogles alike. "We'll share them out evenly."

"...but you are very thoughtful," Miyu added, gently ruffling the cubs' ears for them. "You are a credit to mooglekind, kupo." The little moogles beamed, and got busy dividing their bounty into piles.

Sephiroth's share came to no more than a handful, but his stomach was still so tight with stress and illness that he only managed three and barely tasted any of them. The baby moogles were too busy enjoying their treat to notice, but he felt Miyu and Kupua's attention on him even while they fussed over the little ones in their care. Sephiroth quietly spilled the rest of his kupo nuts into the adult moogles' share and tucked his hands in his lap, bowing his aching head until his hair spilled forward over his face.

"You look tired," Miyu murmured, patting his arm with a careful paw. Sephiroth nodded - gods, yes, he was tired, he couldn't remember what it was like to not be tired. "We'll get you back into bed, then, and let you rest. No, little ones, Sephiroth-kupo is still recovering," she scolded gently when the baby moogles made squeaky noises of protest. "You can play with him some more when he's feeling better."

"Better," Kibo echoed.

Sephiroth lifted his head just enough to smile wanly at Kibo, and let Kupua and Miyu usher him back into his bed of cushions before gently shepherding the baby moogles away. Kibo was the last to go, and would only leave when Sephiroth allowed the little one to kiss his cheek.

"Love," the baby moogle squeaked. "Better."

"I'm sorry," Sephiroth whispered.

Kupua carried Kibo off then, with a last pat to Sephiroth's hand, and drew the curtain shut behind her. Sephiroth turned his face to the wall and prayed moogle hearing wasn't as sharp as SOLDIER hearing as he stifled his sobs in his pillow.

*

_Sephiroth is in the Crater again, surrounded by crystal growth and the tendriled touch of Mother, waist-deep in a pool of thick shimmering green. He's relaxed, not because he feels safe but because there's no use in fighting. Mother forbids even the thought._

__//Offspring//self//, _Jenova identifies. She is pleased, as much as she ever is._ //Descend//. __

_Sephiroth looks down. His reflection in the green ooze - too thick and sickly to be the Mako he knows - shivers and fractures, each ripple showing him something different. He sees himself as a small child, pickling in Mako for so long that there are crystals forming in his hair; he sees himself drenched in magic and blood in Wutai; he sees himself wreathed in fire at Nibelheim. And he sees himself transmogrified, enormous and heavy with Jenova's biomass, no longer even slightly human._

_Now he struggles, even as Jenova's tendrils pull him down, down, inorexably down into the green. "No, please," and his weak human voice echoes off the crystal, mocking him. "I don't want to be a monster anymore!"_

"...kupo?"

Sephiroth opened his eyes. The elder moogle, the first aside from Kibo to greet him, stood by his shoulder patting his forehead with a cool damp cloth. For a moment he was sure he was still dreaming. _Moogles are a bedtime story, boy. They don't exist._

Sephiroth squeezed his eyes shut briefly, willing the voice of Hojo in his head to silence. "...just a nightmare," he murmured, and felt the moogle's paw withdraw, only to return without the damp cloth to smooth his bangs away from his face. He didn't even tense up at the contact. Like Marlene and Denzel, it was impossible to feel threatened by a moogle.

"Seemed like a bad one, kupo," the elder commented. "Are all the wingless so haunted?"

Sephiroth sat up with great care. "I hope not. But I'm afraid many are," he admitted in a near whisper. "The - event, of five years ago. It..."

He fell silent again, his throat dry of words and his hands flexing in indecision. The elder moogle watched him quietly a moment, then reached out and placed a paw on Sephiroth's hand.

"Tell me in the morning," they suggested. "For now, I will bring you sleepytime tea. Kupo?"

"...kupo," Sephiroth mumbled, accepting his failure with ill grace, and watched the elder toddle away to fiddle with the kettle. It functioned with no flame, just a Materia - a Gaia's Tear, as the moogles called it - in its base, so it took only a light touch from the elder moogle to start the water heating.

"Are you a nurse too?" Sephiroth found himself asking, watching the moogle rummage through the tea box.

"I was, in my youth, kupo," the moogle replied. "Now I teach and advise. Now and then I sit on the elders' council. You'll meet them when you're well enough, kupo. Do you want honey in your tea?"

"...no thank you." Sephiroth tugged his blankets about restlessly, the echoes of his nightmare warring with frustration at his own weakness. When the moogle returned, carefully bearing a wooden mug that steamed with something sweet and fragrant, he had to make himself accept it, and stared at his own dark reflection in the depths. _Everything I take from them will earn me that much more of their hatred when they learn what I am._

_Monster._

_Crisis._

The moogle tapped his wrist, not hard enough to jostle the mug even slightly. "It works better if you drink it, kupo."

"...apologies." Sephiroth took a mouthful, swallowed, paused to let the warmth go down. It was very good tea. All the moogles who nursed him made very good tea. "...I'm sorry. I just realized I don't know your name."

"My name is Akopo." Another soft-pawed pat. "Miyu and Kupua are my daughters. Kibo is my darling grandbaby. Whatever chased you here, whatever haunts you... I am glad you came here. Now, finish your tea and lie down, and I can promise you will at least get a proper night's rest, kupo."

Sephiroth took another swallow of tea and said nothing. _Monster. Crisis. Coward._

*

There was a muffled commotion outside. Sephiroth rose up on one elbow, squinting from the ache in his head, and heard the moogles conversing in low, concerned tones. _"Third one in a month, kupo. They're getting more aggressive. Do you think...?"_

Sephiroth climbed out of his pillow nest and staggered to the entrance, his blanket clutched tight around his shoulders. Outside, a handful of the warriors of the village stood over the corpse of a Diablo, a winged creature common to the forest. Less common, he gathered: the long hank of soiled silver hair that had hung limply from the Diablo's skull. From the Diablo's scaly hide and the concerned stances of the moogle warriors, this was not a common feature. 

One of the spear-wielding moogles glanced up. Sephiroth shrank back into shadow, then swore at himself and forced his feet to carry him back in the light. He was feeling better, and there was no more reason to drag this out. 

"Sephiroth-kupo," one of the hunters greeted. "How are you feeling?" 

"Well enough." Sephiroth kept his gaze resolutely on the moogles, despite their blinding cuteness. That one good look at the monster had been enough. "A recent kill?" 

"Near to where the dragon was brought down, kupo," Kupua spoke up. "It may have been feeding on what we left behind." 

Sephiroth winced. He had no idea how the Jenova virus spread itself, aside from needles wielded by a mad professor, but surely eating infected meat was a possible infection vector. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you to burn the remains." 

"You haven't been in much condition to think of such things," one of Kupua's companions pointed out, and Sephiroth nodded in reluctant concession. "How do you feel now?" 

Sephiroth took a slow breath, bracing himself. "Well enough to answer any questions you or your elders may have for me." 

The moogle warriors exchanged glances. "Are you sure?" Kupua asked. "There's no need to push yourself, kupo. We've waited five years for answers. A few more days won't make much of a difference." 

"I fear that is increasingly not true." Sephiroth nodded to the Diablo corpse in their midst. "The Crisis-" one of the warriors muttered a soft oath of 'kupo!' at the word - "is not quite dead, and every day I delay telling you what I know puts all of Kakupipo in danger." He lifted his gaze at last, finding Kupua's eyes. "You have all been kinder to me than I will ever deserve. I would not leave you in danger longer than I can help." 

Kupua's eyes narrowed in understanding. She nodded, her pom dipping with the motion. "I will speak to the elders, kupo." 

"Thank you." Suddenly exhausted, Sephiroth sighed and leaned against the doorway. "Truly - thank you." 

_Now I will see the limits of the kindness of moogles._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialect Notes: "Kupo" has no direct translation; its meaning changes depending on when and how it's spoken. When it comes at the end of a sentence, it conveys a feeling of 'this is a true and trustworthy statement' or 'this is my honest opinion.' When it's used as a descriptor, it is usually a compliment. It can be shouted in agreement and support, or blurted in shock and disbelief. Muttered under one's breath, it can mean anything from 'I have discovered something wondrous' to 'what fresh hell is this?' Tone and context counts for a lot.
> 
> ......kupo. ;)


	19. Chapter 18: Meeting Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he gains in strength, Sephiroth must face the moogles, and his own past.

The black dragon's horns graced the wall of the biggest hollow tree in Kakupipo, along with a collection of various other artifacts - monster parts, woven hangings, a carved wooden relief of both humanoid and mooglelike figures interacting, all of which Sephiroth was sure had their own stories at least as impressive as the dragon's. It was underneath this collection of wordless stories that the elder moogles gathered to hear what Sephiroth had to say.

Sephiroth entered the hollow with a train of curious moogles at his heels, his nurses and Kupua among them, but as he paused to take in their trophy collection they filed in around him to sit in the woven-reed benches surrounding the elders' table. The elders themselves sat on stumps with reed cushions. Each had a cup of kupo-leaf tea; Miyu presented a wooden mug of the same drink to Sephiroth, which Sephiroth appreciated as it was a cool morning and he still had no shirt.

"I know our elders can be intimidating sometimes, kupo," Miyu told him, hovering near his shoulder. "But they have good hearts. Just be as honest as you can and you'll be fine, kupo."

_Intimidating,_ Sephiroth repeated in the privacy of his own head. The elder moogles were small and bent and slow-moving, squinting out at the world from behind shaggy-fuzzy fur. Some of them had charmingly rough-carved walking canes. 'Intimidating' was not the word he would have used.

"I'll try," he told Miyu, and received a pat in reward. Miyu flitted off to the stands, leaving Sephiroth alone as, one by one, the elders turned their attention to him.

It felt wrong to stand. He towered over them, over almost all of the moogles, and he shouldn't, both because he didn't want his own perception of them as _small and adorable_ to cloud his thinking and because he didn't want them to see him as a threat. What he had to tell them all would frighten and anger them all on its own. He knelt, Wutaian-style, before the elders' table and rested his hands on his knees.

One of the elders tilted his head. "Do you need a cushion, kupo?"

"I am comfortable."

The elders glanced at each other, shared a collection of shrugs, and collectively seemed to decide to take Sephiroth's words at face value. "Then I call this meeting to order, kupo," the elder moogle in the center announced. "I am Elder Pokku. Sephiroth-kupo, you have been called here to speak of the event of five years ago. Are you willing to do so?"

Sephiroth nodded. Now that the moment was upon him, he was strangely calm. "I am, Elder."

"Then please begin, kupo."

Sephiroth drew a slow, steady breath. Since the day Kupua and Miyu had brought up Meteor, he had struggled with how to tell this tale. Now he could no longer delay, he could think of only one place to begin. "Forty years ago," he said, his voice echoing through the hall, "archaeologists discovered the preserved remains of what they believed to be a Cetra in a two-thousand-year-old geological stratum. The remains were given to a biologist named Professor Gast Faremis, at the time the head of Shinra Science Research Department. Gast named the organism after the area in which it was discovered - Jenova."

At that name, every moogle in the hall gasped. One of the elders even fluttered off of her stool in shock. "Did you say-!"

Elder Pokku lifted a paw. "Steady, kupo," he commanded. "Let him tell his story before we start with the questions." He nodded to Sephiroth. "Continue."

Sephiroth, meanwhile, was just as shocked. _They know Jenova's name? I thought they were isolated from the world._ "Thank you," he said nevertheless, and re-found the thread of his tale. "Professor Gast and a colleague of his, Professor Satoshi Hojo, discovered that exposure to Mako seemed to re-animate the dead cells of the organism. They began to dream of reviving the Cetra - the Ancients, as they called them then, humans having little knowledge left of the Cetra. The Shinra Company-" He paused, catching a flutter of confusion. "A company is an entity made of a group of humans, whose purpose is to provide goods or services in exchange for wealth," he explained.

"Ah, kupo. Carry on."

"Yes, Elder." Sephiroth took a sip of his tea to ease his throat. "The Shinra Company saw an opportunity to gain more wealth from this, if they were successful. They believed that a revived Cetra would be able to lead them to the Promised Land." The moogle elders glanced at each other again - clearly they knew that legend too. "So the Company gave the scientists their blessing, and enough funding to do whatever they felt necessary to fulfill the goal of what they called the Jenova Project." He took a deep breath. "I am what was produced."

"...produced?" Despite his own injunction, it was Elder Pokku himself who asked.

Sephiroth lowered his eyes, staring at the ripple of light on the surface of his tea. "Yes. Professor Gast and Professor Hojo, with Shinra's funding... produced me."

"With... bits of Jenova?" asked the elder to Pokku's left, clutching her teacup in both paws. "I'm sorry for interrupting, kupo, but I don't quite understand."

"I'm not sure I can explain the particulars," Sephiroth admitted. "I only know what I read of the process, years later... I wasn't at my best at the time. I'm not sure how much I retained."

Elder Pokku raised a paw for quiet again. It was shaking. "It's not necessary right now to understand how it was done, kupo," he announced. "Please continue, Sephiroth-kupo."

Sephiroth nodded. "I grew up knowing none of this," he went on. "Professor Gast disappeared when I was very young. Professor Hojo told me that Jenova was the name of my mother, who had died giving birth to me. I cannot know now what else he lied about. And I never learned the fate of Professor Gast." The thought of Professor Gast still twisted his heart, but he couldn't let himself dwell on the ache now. "Years later, I discovered the reports of these events - of my birth - in a basement lab in a town called Nibelheim. As I read them, I began to hear a voice in my head. It was one I had heard before, in dreams and during my regular stints in Mako tanks, but this time it was stronger, more coherent. She said she was Jenova - my mother. She called me her son. And she told me..."

_//but these//these worthless creatures//are stealing//the planet//from Me//_

The moogles were already giving him horrified looks, and he hadn't even gotten to the worst part yet. Sephiroth found himself smiling bitterly and worked to suppress it. "I'm afraid I went quite mad after that. I attacked my subordinates. I set fire to the town. I went to Mother's body held in the Nibelheim reactor intending to elevate her - and myself with her - to the status of god over the Planet itself. I might have succeeded, but my subordinates - Zack Fair and Cloud Strife. They stopped me." He could barely remember it - only a feverish flurry of strikes, the grim satisfaction of a perceived kill, and then a sickening lurch as he was overthrown and he and his Mother fell screaming into hell. "Five years later... Mother had succeeded in a kind of partial resurrection, using constructs made from her own biomass and my memories. She sent me out into the world to lead all of her stray cells to Reunion, and to bring about the end of the world."

"The Crisis," someone whispered from the stands, and Sephiroth looked up to meet the horrified eyes of Kupua.

"Yes," he agreed. "I was the Crisis reborn. I left a trail of blood from Midgar to the North Crater. I'm afraid it was I who summoned Meteor, for the power Mother and I would gain from controlling the Lifestream that would flow to such a deadly wound. I was stopped, thankfully, by a brave man and the soul of the last Cetra, whom I..." His voice failed him. He'd been so close, Mother's triumph had been so close...! "I cut her down, but she fought me still. If not for them..."

_"The Green Lady,"_ rippled in a wave of whispers around the room, and Sephiroth blinked. Elder Pokku cleared his throat. "Sephiroth-kupo... can you clarify something? How old were you when these - _professors_ -" He spoke the word as if it were foreign to him, and highly suspect. "-exposed you to the Crisis?"

"I was still in the womb," Sephiroth answered, almost carelessly.

Kupua's paws pressed to her mouth, her pom trembling. Before her neighbors could stop her, she flew from her seat and straight at Sephiroth. Sephiroth could only brace himself for what he knew was coming, having seen the fierceness of this warrior firsthand, and-

-she was clinging to him. Weeping.

"Miss... Kupua?" Sephiroth's hand went to her back, as gently as he would have done with Kibo, and Kupua's sobs intensified.

"You poor thing," she wept. "How terrible! Oh, just let me get my paws on these Professors-" She pulled back, fierceness in her damp and fuzzy face. "I'll bring them to a swift and well-deserved justice, kupo!"

"The Professors are dead," Sephiroth said faintly.

"Oh." That only stymied Kupua for a moment. "Well, then, I hope their souls are getting a thorough scrubbing in the Lifestream, kupo _kupo._ "

"Kupo," echoed the assembled moogles in a patchy chorus.

Sephiroth looked around. The moogles gazed back at him in horror and pity, some of them weeping as Kupua was. Even the elders were moved, clinging to each other's paws and murmuring. "You look confused," Elder Pokku observed when he caught Sephiroth staring.

Sephiroth ducked his head down again. Kupua's pom bumped his face. "I expected you all to be angry."

"We _are_ angry!" Kupua burst out. "That horrible - oh! How _could_ they! To a _little_ one, kupo!"

"...I." No, it was no good. Sephiroth sat back in mute bafflement, and Kupua fell into a fresh round of tears and hugged him fiercely. Miyu flutter-hopped to their side; Sephiroth thought she was there to comfort her sister and turned toward her, only to have Miyu hop into his lap and cuddle into his chest alongside Kupua. The moogles in the stands had lost their respectful silence, murmuring their laments for the infant Sephiroth couldn't remember being and couldn't feel anything for. _Did they miss the trail-of-blood part?_ he wondered, wary under the weight of all those tearful gazes.

"That's quite a tale, Sephiroth-kupo." Elder Pokku gently brought attention back to himself, and Sephiroth obediently refocused, looking at the elders from behind Miyu and Kupua's poms. "I know no words can erase the suffering you've been put through, but we extend our paws in sympathy nevertheless."

With two moogles weeping in his lap, Sephiroth could hardly reject their offer, but... "...I feel that unnecessary given what I've done," he protested quietly.

"Oh, _kupo,"_ Kupua burbled into his chest.

The elders' exchange of looks was concerned rather than confused this time. "It seems the story of the Crisis has not survived the passage of time among the wingless," commented one of the elders.

"How could they not know?" argued another, the same one who'd asked about _bits of Jenova._ "They remember her name! Jenova, kupo!"

Elder Pokku held up a paw. "Sephiroth-kupo said they called the area Jenova. Kupo?"

Sephiroth nodded cautiously. _What are they driving at?_ "Jenova Pass, in the Bone Mountains. I've never been there, but I understand it to be an isolated place, little-used by humans."

"It would be, kupo," muttered the elder on the far left, who until then had been seemingly focused mostly on his tea.

"So perhaps some knowledge survives," mused Pokku. "But not enough to prevent this - Gast, kupo? - from doing this foolish thing. If he truly knew what the name Jenova meant, he would have left her where she lay."

"Gast, perhaps," Sephiroth agreed. "But not Hojo."

"Hmm." Elder Pokku frowned. "Sephiroth-kupo, how much do you know of the tale of Jenova?"

Sephiroth shut his eyes. He knew Jenova's take on it, she'd made damn sure he knew, but it had been in wordless flashes of pain and rage that had scoured what had been left of his mind. "She... came to this planet in order to take it over, as she had many others," he said slowly, trying to translate those awful sense-memories into words. "With the wound her vessel had dealt the Planet, she drank deep of this world's blood and grew strong. But the people of this world - the Cetra - did not resign themselves to their fate. They tricked her and sealed her away, leaving her to lie dormant for long, long years until..."

He trailed off. There was no need to finish that thought. The moogle elders nodded grimly, even their poms nodding in serious fashion. "...that is the only version of the story I know," he offered as an apology.

Miyu patted his shoulder as Elder Pokku considered this. "Then perhaps it is time you knew our version." He raised his voice so that it echoed, ponderously yet squeakily, around the hall. "This, then, is the tale of Jenova, passed down from parent to cub for many, many generations."

The assembled moogles immediately quieted, all of their attention for the elder. In the near-silence Kupua's hiccupped breaths sounded unnaturally loud; Miyu helpfully stroked her back as Elder Pokku began to tell the tale.

"Long ago, when the Cetra were still with us, a great Crisis came down from the sky, dealing the Planet a grievous wound in the northlands where the snow never melts. Moogles and Cetra gathered there to heal it, but were met by a strange and malevolent ghost. At first the ghost merely lashed out at them, but when the courageous moogles and Cetra fought back with the gifts of the Planet, it withdrew. Its next attack was more sinister: it dredged the blood of the Planet for memories of those beloved ones who had returned to the Planet, and came to the Cetra camps wearing the visages of these deceased beloved ones. Those who ran to these visages to embrace them were taken by a horrible sickness, one that transformed them into monsters. Many Cetra, many moogles, even many of their chocobos were lost in this way.

"Finally, a young warrior of the Cetra, realizing that such a threat could not be fought with either weapons or magic, thought up a different plan. She told the elders, 'I will gather up as much of this Crisis as I can hold into my own body, and when I am finished, you must seal me away.' Her family cried and begged her not to do this, but she was resolved. She entered the place where the Crisis had come down, and to this day none know what she found there, but one morning all the visages turned away from their battles with the Cetra and moogles and began to walk back to the center of that horrible wound, and all the Cetra warriors knew their sister had succeeded. They followed the visages up, up into those snowy heights, and down, down into the dark where the Crisis waited.

"She fought them. How could she not? But the warriors remembered her final words to them, that she would be the vessel in which the Crisis would be sealed. And after a long battle, they succeeded in doing so, wrapping her in crystal and sending her deep into the cradle of the earth. At that time, though the monsters who had once been their family still roamed the land, the Crisis was over.

"The Cetra, already in decline at the time, never truly recovered after that battle, and we moogles were also badly reduced, and withdrew from the world of the wingless. But we still remember this tale of courage and sacrifice, and we will never forget the name of the Cetra warrior, Jenova."

_Jenova!_

The name stole the breath from Sephiroth's throat. He stared wordlessly, struggling to make the concepts of _courage and sacrifice_ square with the honey-sweet lies and extraordinary rages of the being he'd worshipped as Mother. Elder Pokku held his gaze calmly, observing him as an instructor might observe a student, until Kupua reached up cautiously to pat his cheek and he ducked his head down again.

"Sephiroth-kupo." Elder Pokku hopped down from his stool and trotted to him, little walking stick going tap-tap-tap on the dirt floor. "You have been insistent on claiming responsibility for the Crisis, and that tells me you are an honorable sort. But consider, even Jenova attacked her friends when under the control of the Crisis. There was nothing you could have done."

"But I could have - I - I went to her willingly." Sephiroth's voice broke on the end. "She promised to love me and I was an _idiot,_ I believed her-"

"What motherless cub wouldn't?" Elder Pokku philosophized, as Miyu and Kupua hugged him between them. "I know, if that red sun had hit the Planet it would have been terrible. Maybe even the end of everything. But you told us yourself, kupo, those _Professors_ exposed you to the Crisis before you were even born. From the moment you heard her voice in your head she had you, I'll wager my pom on it. There was nothing you could have done, kupo."

"But..."

"Sephiroth-kupo." Elder Pokku toddled close enough to put a paw on his knee. _"There was nothing you could have done,_ kupo."

"Yes, you listen to Elder," Kupua scolded him gently.

"We know the name of Jenova as a hero. We honor her even now, two thousand summers on," Elder Pokku continued, and the room was filled with nodding poms and agreeing kupos. "If you are her descendant - however it came about - that is something to be proud of."

_Jenova, the warrior. Jenova, the hero. Jenova, who sacrificed her life - more than that, sacrificed her very self to save the world._

Sephiroth had never had a wild or vivid imagination, but suddenly he found it all too easy to conjure up how Jenova's final moments must have felt. Screaming along with her torturer, a slave in mind and body, striking out at those she loved-

"Sephiroth-kupo?" Miyu quavered, and Sephiroth realized with a start that he was crying. Worse, he didn't seem to be able to stop.

"I - I'm s-" He choked on the words and covered his face, embarrassment so hot under his skin he thought he would burst into flames. Miyu and Kupua made alarmed noises and tugged at his fingers and he flinched from them, torn between the hot prickle through his skin at their touch and the awareness that they were small and fragile beings and it would be far, far too easy to hurt them.

The moogles withdrew at his flinch, but only for a moment. Soft paws returned to pat at his hands, stroke his hair. Miyu cooed worriedly. "Seph-kupo, it's all right," she said. "Shh... be brave, and cry as much as you need."

That made no sense, and Sephiroth's breath stuttered with the effort of processing it. It must have been moogle culture, where crying was brave - Sephiroth had known from an early age that crying was _unacceptable,_ it was _weakness_ \- but no, that wasn't right, was it? He was the one who was wrong, he'd been _raised_ wrong, he'd thought he was strong but he'd broken at the first blow-

Suddenly the tears of grief were tears of anger, of _betrayal_ bitter on his tongue. He curled in on himself on instinct _(anger is unacceptable, anger is dangerous, anger is how She-)_ and found himself curling around Kupua and Miyu, the sisters' fierce whispers in his defense lending conviction to the gentleness of their paws. Their praise of him flowed together in an unceasing stream, his own half-stifled sobs drowned out their words but _love, love_ made it through. Elder Pokku set down his walking stick to lay both hands on Sephiroth's head, murmuring some simple cadence that sounded like prayer, and one by one, more soft, fluffy moogle paws joined his, moogles cuddling close.

All Sephiroth could do was cry until he couldn't breathe.

*

A tiny, soft paw patted his cheek, and an inquiring little voice intruded gently on his rest. "Kupo?"

"Kupo," Sephiroth mumbled, or tried to around a mouth gone dry and thick, and put out a hand. He met the slightest bit of resistance, something warm and wiggly, and gave up immediately, letting his hand fall with a muffled thump.

"Kupo?"

The world faded away again, and returned with a much more unignoreable wake-up call of a baby moogle climbing onto his face. "What," he blurted, jerking up, and Kibo slid off his face with a scrabble of tiny paws and landed in the crook of his arm. "...oh."

"Wah!" Kibo protested.

"I'm sorry." Sephiroth struggled to sit up with Kibo wiggling in one arm. His head felt stuffed with old rags, his eyelashes were sticky and his nose was clogged. Was he getting sick again? Should he worry about passing it to Kibo? "Why were you climbing on my face?" he asked.

Kibo frowned up at him. "Dinner, kupo!"

Dinner? ...oh. _Dinner._ Sephiroth's stomach growled in interest, and Kibo laughed squeakily. He was getting _better,_ then, rather than worse, if his appetite was coming back; perhaps whatever was wrong with his upper respiratory system was a result of crying so hard for so long, and would clear in time. "Very well, you were climbing on my face because _dinner, kupo._ I'm sure that makes sense somehow," Sephiroth grumbled affectionately, and climbed to his feet. "Come on, then."

Despite Kibo's enthusiasm, Sephiroth wasn't sure he was invited, but Akopo, Kupua and Miyu were waiting for him at the infirmary tree's entrance and the latter two fluttered up when they saw him. "There you are, kupo!" Miyu greeted. "How are you feeling? Are you up for company? Everyone's gathering for dinner, kupo."

"...for dinner, I can handle company," Sephiroth admitted, and the moogles patted his shoulders and led him out into the sun and into Kakupipo's weekly communal picnic.

All at once Sephiroth was grateful to Lily May and (most of) her siblings for teaching him how picnics worked. The moogles were a riot of color and activity, passing out food from earthenware or wooden dishes and chattering to each other in a neverending stream - now Sephiroth saw how their village got its name. He sat down on a corner of the Akopo family's reed mat and accepted a roll of soft cheese, fresh vegetables and thin strips of meat in a kind of flatbread made of kupo nut meal. As tired as he was of the everpresent taste of kupo nuts, the food was warm and nourishing, awakening his senses. Miyu and Kupua split their time between cajoling Kibo into eating and wolfing down a few bites of their own food, while Akopo sat next to Sephiroth and - did much the same with him, Sephiroth realized, though he hoped he had more dignity about it.

"It's so good to see you getting a healthy appetite back, Seph-kupo," Akopo told him with a pat of their paw, and Sephiroth decided not to tell him that at full strength he could eat three times as much. He was a little afraid Akopo would attempt to test that statement, and that led to horrifying mental images of Kakupipo running out of food over the winter.

"Thank you," he said instead, and Akopo beamed. "Were the elders - very upset, about what I told them? I know you were going to discuss more after-"

After he'd been conducted from the meeting tree, still in tears, with a train of worried moogles behind him.

Akopo patted his knee again. "There was - and is - much to discuss, kupo," they said. "If you're feeling up to it, the elders have some questions for you - and more when you finish answering those, I'm sure!" they added with a laugh. "But you mustn't think you upset them, kupo, even if they seem stern and solemn to you. Grave news doesn't mean we're not grateful to the messenger."

_Stern and solemn moogles. Right._ "I'll keep that in mind," Sephiroth promised. "Of course I will answer whatever questions they have for me."

"Just as long as you remember to look after yourself as well, kupo," Akopo told him - a pre-emptive scold, Sephiroth thought. "Those nosy old mogs will wring you out if you let them, so don't you let them."

"Understood." Sephiroth tried to hide a smile. Those 'nosy old mogs' had been much kinder interrogators than he'd ever expected, and he owed them - no. _He was grateful_ for their kindness. He would answer whatever questions they had.

...strange. Was this how it felt to finally begin to learn?

"...may I have another roll?" he asked carefully, just to try it out, and Akopo beamed at him and proudly filled his hands with food.

*

The moogle elders did, indeed, have questions upon questions. First among them, just as Sephiroth had expected: how had the brave man and the last Cetra ended the Crisis without sealing Sephiroth away, as his sort-of-ancestress had been?

"They didn't," Sephiroth admitted. "That is, they killed me rather than seal me." The moogle elders tipped their heads to the side nearly in unison, (adorably) mystified. "Rather, Cloud - the brave warrior - killed me, freeing the last Cetra's summoning of Holy to move and intercept Meteor before it could destroy more than one human city." His head started to throb in warning. "I apologize, but my memory of this time is fragmented. Trying to remember gives me headaches."

"Understandable, kupo," Elder Pokku assured him, and nudged his arm. Obediently he sipped his kupo-leaf tea, and felt a little better. "But of course we must ask about..."

"How I have not stayed dead?"

"And how you escaped the Crisis' clutches, kupo." Elder Pokku nodded. "But if it hurts you to tell..."

"Not this part." Sephiroth leaned back against the tree they'd gathered under, the rough bark pressing with rough comfort against his spine. "The last Cetra, Aeris... it's mystifying, but she took pity on me, her murderer. She brought me back - a true resurrection, not a seeming as J- ...the Crisis had once done. She freed me from its influence. Her power far outstrips that of the Crisis now."

"The Green Lady," one of the other elders murmured.

"You know her?"

The elder, Uepo the mage, chuckled. "She started appearing to our seers - hmm, perhaps three summers ago? Seemingly just out of curiosity. I don't know if she's the same as your Aeris, but she's definitely a Cetra soul. Very sweet. Fond of little ones, just like you." Sephiroth blushed and tucked his fingers together, but couldn't deny the truth of the elder's words. 

Talk turned to other matters. Mako reactors, the use of Mako as energy, the scope of human cities and the tangle of human economics - all part of the story of the Crisis, but all things the moogles had little context to understand. Sephiroth did his best to explain, but he quickly discovered to his frustration that he had little context to _not_ understand. "I wish I could just show you," he said, and the moogle elders exchanged speaking glances and patted his hands.

"Don't worry, kupo," Elder Pokku assured him. "We're happy for what you can tell us."

"The outside world seems like a complicated place, kupo," complained Elder Hariko, who'd had little to say when she sat next to Elder Pokku in the meeting hall but had a flood of questions for Sephiroth now. "How ever do the wingless manage it all?"

Sephiroth tried to smother his laugh, not wanting her to think he was mocking her. "It's all for the sake of convenience," he explained to Elder Hariko's puzzled headtilt when he couldn't quite succeed. "For example - the blankets you generously loaned to me. How much time would you say it takes to make one?"

"Depending on the size, it can take a whole afternoon or longer, kupo." Elder Hariko said, wide-eyed.

"But that's just the weaving, kupo," Elder Pokku commented, seeming to see where Sephiroth was going with this. "When you factor in gathering the fibers, spinning them, dying them..."

Sephiroth nodded. "All of you live simply, and make only what you can use, and waste nothing, but the tasks you must perform can be time-consuming and onerous, and might strain your eyes or your paws or your back. In Midgar they would never think of - of weaving a blanket, or something like that, when they could purchase one, use it until it wears out after a few years, then purchase another."

The moogles looked to each other with faintly horrified expressions. Perhaps it was living away from humans so long, but when he heard himself say it out loud, Sephiroth thought he understood their disapproval a little. "...perhaps there is much humans could learn from moogles," he offered.

"There is much we could learn from each other," Elder Pokku assured him, patting his hand. Sephiroth thought the elder moogle was only being kind, but he accepted the handpat and kindness anyway. "After all, your people slew the Crisis while we were unaware." He must have seen Sephiroth's expression crumble, despite Sephiroth's resolve. "What is it, kupo?"

"We won't be angry, kupo," Elder Uepo was quick to assure him.

_These are moogles. They have earned my trust._ "The Crisis..." Sephiroth said, not meeting any of their eyes, "...may not be as dead as Aeris - the Green Lady - said."

As quickly as he could, he told them of the monsters appearing in Edge with his face, the effect they had on him. He said nothing of his twisting-cold fears, but he thought they understood anyway - they cuddled up around his knees in a protective circle, patting his hands. "Poor cub, kupo," Elder Hariko said.

"The monsters gaining in strength..." Elder Uepo mused. "And that diablo. Monsters are responsive to the Crisis. It was the same five years ago."

"Then you see why I hunt alone," Sephiroth said, urgency sweeping away his shyness. "If it's my fault they exist, then it's my responsibility to kill them. If I still carry the taint within me-"

"Then you should be with friends who know you," Elder Pokku scolded.

Sephiroth lowered his eyes again. "I don't have any of those." _Zack..._ "None living." The moogles traded glances again. "I won't - I mean, I will understand if you can no longer trust me," Sephiroth said miserably. "I don't trust myself. I'm well enough to leave, if you cannot-"

Abruptly, Elder Hariko fluttered up to his knee - with effort, the power of flight for her was more difficult than for moogles in their younger years - and put a paw firmly on his mouth. "None of that, my cub," she demanded. "You'll sit right there and be looked after, kupo. When you leave Kakupipo, it will be with our blessing and love, not condemnation after all you've endured."

_All I've endured,_ echoed in his head on incredulous repeat. _Can there be this much mercy in the world?_

"Well, that's settled," Elder Pokku declared, giving Sephiroth's knee a firm pat. "More tea, Sephiroth-kupo?"

*

Sephiroth did little over the next few days but eat and rest and play with small moogles, ever aware that the elder moogles discussed and debated in the gathering tree. Akopo split their time between debating with the elders and coming to the infirmary tree - which, aside from a youth's misadventure with some overripe berries, was mostly given over as Sephiroth's guest quarters - to look after Sephiroth in their own grumbly-practical sort of fashion. It reminded him of nothing so much as those first few days in Cid and Shera's home. Excepting of course that Cid and Shera did not have a baby moogle who liked to sit on his head.

But there came the day Sephiroth awoke to a strange quiet energy in Kakupipo, and knew the elders had reached a decision. He sat outside the infirmary tree and watched moogles taking in their hanging decorations and gathering supplies. Akopo arrived around his usual time, Kibo toddle-flapping behind, breakfast for the three of them carried in a little moogle-sized push cart. "The elders will want to speak with you today, kupo," they informed him as Kibo flung himself against Sephiroth's ankle for a hug. "Are you up for it?"

"More than. I feel much better," Sephiroth assured them, picking Kibo up and rubbing his back with two fingers. "Is it the reason everyone seems to be more active today?"

Akopo glanced up, into the higher dwellings full of busy moogles. "Might be, kupo," they acknowledged. "Eat up, you'll need your strength."

That was less than reassuring, but to the mental image of moogle-sized torches and pitchforks Sephiroth firmly reminded himself of the moogles' kindness, and ate what Akopo brought before allowing them and their grandbaby to lead him once again to the meeting tree.

It was empty but for the elders and a few others this time - clearly whatever they'd decided, the other denizens of the Chattering Greenwood already knew. "Sephiroth-kupo," Elder Pokku greeted. "We have a request of you, if you would hear it."

As before, Sephiroth knelt to speak to them. "Name it, please." Behind him he heard Kibo ask "Seff-kupo?" and Akopo shush him gently.

Elder Pokku stepped forward, his walking stick tapping quietly. "The Crisis came five years ago, and despite our watchfulness we knew nothing of it," he said. "Had you never come, we would know nothing still. We... have shamed our ancestors, kupo."

"I'm sure that's not true..." Sephiroth began, but Elder Pokku waved a paw.

"What's done is done. Now we must take responsibility. Sephiroth-kupo, we mean to send a delegation of moogles into the world of the wingless, to see for ourselves the effect of this Crisis and ascertain if it is truly dead." Sephiroth winced. "In addition, to reform relationships with your people that, perhaps, should not have been left to wither at all. When we do, we wish for you to be our guide among the wingless."

_My people._ Sephiroth's shoulders came up despite his best intentions. "I... am not sure I am the best choice for this task."

"Who better, kupo?" Elder Pokku wanted to know. "You have eaten with us, and played with our children. You have always shown respect for our ways even when you didn't understand them. You have been honest with us, and we trust you." Sephiroth winced and looked down. "Sephiroth-kupo. You may have the form of a wingless, but you have the heart of a moogle. You are the right choice for this task."

Sephiroth had to swallow a giggle at that. "I - of course, I will do what I can to aid you," he promised. "I just - may not be welcome everywhere. And I'm not very good at - at talking to people."

"Those issues can be dealt with as they arise, kupo," Elder Pokku said, and Sephiroth got a distinct _I don't believe a word of it_ impression. "If you are willing to try."

What else could Sephiroth say to that? "I will try."


End file.
